#from side to side while he drove dangerously. canonically that is something he did | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dysfunctionalaliens · 2 years

Text

Sweat filled hand holding -Jonathan Byers

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x Female! Bubbly! Reader

Summary: If anyone had told you that you would be in the back of your childhood best friends work van with your boyfriend, his brother and his brothers friend trying to prevent someone from bleeding out, you would have laughed in their face. But sure enough, that’s exactly where you find yourself.

Warnings: Blood, Death, Argyle freaking out, Angst and comfort, Fluff, Romance, Humor, Purple Palm Tree Delight, cute hand holding and spoilers for The Nina Project if you haven’t seen it.

Words: 2.7k

A/N: I had to re-watch this episode so much to write this. I apologize if it’s all over and lack’s reader/(Y/N) until much later, I wanted to do something different and this was something to tackle as I am not used to writing (Y/N) with a bubbly personality. I hope you all enjoy this and remember that requests are open! Requests imagines, head canons, blurbs, or even ask me something!

“Shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, Shit!” Argyle Screamed as he drove.

“Keep pressure on it.” Jonathan spoke as the mess of hands in front of him fumbled around to apply pressure to the bleeding out man’s wound. You barely caught the small mumble of “God.” from Mike as you copied the other three.

“It’s not slowing.” “Keep putting pressure on it.” You and Jonathan both cut off Will, attention sucked in by the dying man in front of you. The world around you almost seemed fake due to the amount of blood covering your hands.

“More Pressure. Get the napkins.” Will reached down and grabbed the napkins applying them to the wound while Mike seemed to talk to the wound with a “Come on.” Everyone’s hands fumbled to apply pressure to the wound as more blood was smeared along crimson soaked hands and wrists."More napkins.” Will spoke as he applied more napkins, the amount almost being overwhelming. You ignored the texture of the blood-soaked napkins seeping into your skin, hearing Mike give a small “Shit.” as he realized the blood was not slowing.

“It’s not slowing.” Will repeated himself once more as Jonathan turned around, yelling “Argyle! Get us to St. Mary’s.” Somehow still applying pressure to the napkin covered wound.

“I don’t think praying’s going to help that dude man.” Argyle yelled as you felt yourself lean back and stare at him in disbelief. The position was awkward and painful but you didn’t care.

“No, you idiot! St. Mary’s Hospital!” You and Jonathan both yelled to Argyle, you more in disbelief over the man’s words and Jonathan’s more of a command. “No, No.” The man on the floor finally spoke, bringing your attention back down to him.

“What?” You and your boyfriend asked the man in shock.

“No hospital.” His voice was weak, causing your heart to skip a beat in realization.

You knew the man wasn’t going to survive this.

“We’re gonna get you to the hospital.” Jonathan’s voice is steady and calm, causing you to give him a side glance of surprise at his ability to keep together.

“You need to warn..O…Owens.” He gurgles as he speaks.

“Owens, okay.” “The girl.” He continues after Jonathan’s words. “She…She’s in danger.” He continues as you along with the two other boys snap your heads to Jonathan, unsure what to do.

“Okay, how…how do we find Owens?” Jonathan asks.

“Nina. Nina.” His voice was drifting even more.

“Nina. Who’s Nina?” Mike questions as you apply more pressure to the wound, trying your hardest to give the man more time. Even if it’s just a few minutes. “Come on. A pen.” Will speaks as you mentally kick yourself for not grabbing one of those stupid bright yellow pens from work like you always did.

To your surprise, the slowly dying man manages to pull a pen from his pants pocket. “Okay.” If Jonathan is shocked, he hides it with perfection. Meanwhile Mike utters yet another “Shit.” as you all watch the man hold the pen up best to his ability.

Your hands fumble to cover more area as Jonathan scrambles to help the man with the pen. “Here’s the number.” You dare to peek at his eyes, noting the life slowly leaving them. “Number. Number.”

“He wants to write something- We can call this Nina?” Mike and Jonathan’s voices clash as Jonathan speaks to the man.

“Grab a magazine or something. Will, get something.” You and Mike both struggle to apply pressure between the two of you. “He’s really bleeding a lot.” Mike speaks as you both share a look for a moment before Will slams down what appears to be the requested magazines in the area.

“Right here, right here.” Will repeats himself, voice desperate as he tries to get the man to write. “Oh god, we’re losing him.” You hold back the urge to cry as you see the final bit of life slipping away. “Come on. Hey!” Jonathan cut’s in, seeing what you had. “Write the number.” Will begs as he keeps his gaze on the man.

“Hey! Look at me! Hey! Come on!” Jonathan shakes the man best he can. “Hold on!” You and Mike both say in unison, attempting to somehow prevent the man from letting go.

Argyle’s “Oh, shit.” is almost drowned out by Jonathan yelling “Hey!” as he continued to semi shake the man.

“Hey, yo, yo. Wait, wait, wait. Why is it so quiet back there, huh? Yo, is he dead? Jesus, man.” You are all silent as you stare down at the dead man. “Talk to me! Shit!” Argyle speaks again, stress in his voice from the lack of responses.

“We should get off the road.” Jonathan’s words cause you, Mike and Will to look up and see the cars trailing behind the van. “Argyle!” You yell as you remove your hand from the wound, ignoring the dried blood. “Argyle, Ar….Argyle, get off the road, now!” Will yelled as he turned around to look at the long-haired man.

“Shit, he’s dead, isn’t he?” You turn around as Argyle does. “This is real bad.” He continues as his expression mirrors one of shock and fear.

“What are you doing?” Jonathan questions.

“Get off the road!” Everyone screamed at Argyle as the man finally swerved the van off the road.

“Oh man.” Argyle groans as he paces. “Okay. This is not the way it’s supposed to go, okay?” You choose to ignore the man as you shovel dirt to cover the dead man. “Oh man, oh man, oh man. Okay this is so messed up. This is so messed up! This is so messed up!” Argyle continues as you along with the three other boys shoveled.

“Okay. Dude’s probably got, like, a family, kids, you know. All that shit. We gotta go to the cops with this.” You pause your shoveling to stare at Argyle in confusion. “Lay it all on ‘em. Your superpowered girlfriend, bad government dudes. Upside Down dimension planet thing- No!” You, Mike and Will cut him off.

Jonathan puts more dirt into the hole before finally stopping to watch the current situation, semi leaning against you as you both watched Argyle. You ignore the sweat dripping down your neck as you gently run your nails along Jonathan’s back with your free hand. You bite back a smile as you feel him relax against you before pulling away, joining Will in shoveling again.

“But…But listen!” Argyle grabs Mike. “The bad government dudes are after your super girlfriend, right? Right? Okay.” You watch as Argyle all but flings Mike around like a ragdoll in his hold. “So maybe the cops can help us find out where she is. They’re gonna kill her man. If they kill her, they’re gonna kill us.”

“Hey!” Jonathan attempts to distract Argyle but the man ignores him. “Argyle!” You tried, frowning when you got a lack of a response as well.

“Actually, they might kill us before they kill her.” Both you and Jonathan drop your shovels before moving closer to Argyle and Mike. “I dunno, man.” You watched Argyle’s animated hand movements for a second as Mike seemed to be in shock.

“Argyle!” Jonathan yelled beside you. Argyle let go of Mike before semi walking away. “Actually I don’t know what order they wanna go!”

“Listen to me! Hey! Argyle!” “Eeny meeny miny moe!” “Listen!” What!?”

“Look, I think we can figure this out, okay? We just gotta open our minds.” Jonathan’s words caused you to stare at him for a moment before realization washed over you.

Purple Palm Tree Delight.

“Open our minds? That’s an open grave in front of me, man!” You bite your tongue to hold back the small laugh that threatens to slip past your lips at his words. “Open my mind? What are you talking about?” Jonathan moves closer as Argyle continues to freak out. “Listen. Hey, dude! Hey!” Jonathan grabs Argyle, still shouting. “Just relax, okay?” His words are lighter now, calm.

You stab your shovel into the dirt as you wipe the sweat off your neck, trying to pretend blood wasn’t caked under your fingernails like dirt as you wipe your hands against your jeans.

“Why don’t you just go to the van…and do your thing, huh?” Argyle nods. “Purple Palm Tree Delight.” Argyle chuckles as Jonathan gives a firm nod. “Right.”

Will throws up his arms with a look of almost annoyance before stabbing at the dirt to push more into the grave. “It’s just worn off. I’m all emotional.” “You’re emotional.” Jonathan confirms his words. “Okay.” He turns around and begins towards the van. “I’m sorry.” Argyle apologizes.

“You’re fine.” Jonathan rest’s his hand on Argyle’s back before letting him walk away.

“Jonathan.” Will speaks as Jonathan turns around with a “Yeah?”. “More weed? Is that really a good idea right now?” Will questions, seemingly unsure of the choice.

“Got a better idea to keep him calm?” Jonathan questioned as he moved towards the grave once more. “Let’s just get this done.” You all begin to shovel dirt once more at Jonathan’s return.

You gave a final look to the criss-cross sitting Argyle, leaving him to play with the now empty pizza box as you moved towards Jonathan, noting the spread-out map across the rusted car.

“Hi.” You whispered as you stopped beside him, peering down at the map. He sighs before leaning his body against you. As much as the body heat made you sweat even more under the scorching sun, you melted against him. Automatically linking pinkies with him as you stood there taking in each other's company.

“Burying a body together really is romantic, isn’t it?” You ask, voice light and sweet. Jonathan shifts to stand once more before releasing your pinkie and instead grabbing your sweaty hand with his equally sweaty one. “Eww..Jonathan.” You groan but make no move to let go.

“It is. Maybe we should do this again next week?” He asks as you snort, giving him a gentle nudge with your shoulder. “Totally, I’m sure my mother would love for us to become grave diggers.” You give a playful gasp. “Maybe we should be robbers next?” You playfully suggest before tightening your grip on Jonathan’s hand, noting the tenseness of his body.

You nervously lick your dry lips before looking down at the map and looking back at Jonathan. “So, what’s the plan now?” You softly question. You ignore the sweat dripping down your hand as Jonathan gives it a tight squeeze. “I’m not sure. We have to find ‘Nina’ whatever that could be.”

He uses his free hand to wipe sweat off his face before frowning. “What if- what if we don’t find it in time?” He sounds so afraid it catches you off guard. “What if we don’t find it?” He questions once more as he loosens his grip on your hand.

“Jonathan.” He doesn’t look at you as you speak. “Jonathan~” Your voice is now breezy as you speak. He puts his gaze onto you. “There you are. Now listen I’ve never dealt with this before. Hell, if you had told me I would have been in the back of Argyle’s van trying to keep a man from bleeding out like this morning? I would have not believed you.” You wave your free hand around as you speak.

“But I’m glad I was in that van. I’m glad I was in that van and I’m here now.” You grip his hand tightly. “We are going to find Nina. Warn Owens? Is that his name?” Jonathan laughs at your unsureness before nodding. “And we are going to do exactly what we need to. Me, you, Will, Mike and Argyle. We got this. No matter what happens, we are here with you.” You peck his cheek with a bright smile.

He returns your smile, a bit smaller and more nervous but a smile nonetheless.

He leans down a bit, getting closer to your lips-

“Hey does anybody know the dead dude’s name?” Argyle questions as Jonathan pulls away with a sigh.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. “He’s your best friend until the sun goes down.” You chirp as you turn your attention to Argyle.

“What?” Jonathan questions as he turns as well.

“The dead dude.” Argyle points down at the pen from before that was now sticking out of the dirt. “I’m making him a headstone.”

“Really Argyle?” You spoke as you laughed in disbelief. “You do realize we spent all morning hiding the body.” Jonathan gestures to the makeshift grave.

“Well, I’ll just write, uh, ‘Here Lies Unknown Hero Agent Man.’ Yeah. ‘Saved Argyle, (Y/N), Jonathan, Will and Mike from certain death.’” Argyle holds the pizza box like a gravestone as he speaks.

“You…You’re gonna write our names on the pizza box?” Jonathan questioned as Argyle shrugged. “They’re pretty common names.” Argyle spoke as he began trying to write on the box.

“Is he aware his name is Argyle?” You giggled as you asked Jonathan who shook his head in disbelief.

“Okay, dude. Uh, do your thing.” Jonathan spoke before he turned around once more to the map, mumbling “Jesus Christ.” Under his breath as he did. You watched Argyle attempt to write with the pen for a moment before turning back to look at the map once more.

You leaned against the rusted car until noticing Will and Mike go walking past you. You and Jonathan both shared a look of confusion before moving towards the two boys. “What are you doing?” You and Argyle asked in unison as you all watched Mike unscrew the pen.

He flicked the opening towards Argyle as something popped out of the pen.

“Oh shit.” You smiled as you watched Argyle hold up a rolled-up piece of paper. “Something fell outta that pen, man.” Mike grabbed it from him and unrolled it. “What is it?” Will questioned as you leaned across Jonathan to peer at the paper.

“It’s the number. We’ve had it this whole time.” Mike announced as he peered at the paper in his hand.

“We got his digits, man?” Argyle questioned as you all stared down at the paper.

“Phone booth!” You excitedly yelled, finally finding one.

“There’s one. Argyle, slow down.” Will spoke after you.

“There’s one what? Argyle asked, unaware of what anyone was talking about.

“Slow down!” Everyone began yelling.

“Stop barking orders.” Argyle whined.

“Argyle! Slow down!” Mike yelled as the van swerved off the road and into an awkward stop.

“Jesus Christ- Christ!” You and Mike both spoke as the van stopped.

“202-968-6161.” Will spoke the numbers as Mike pressed them on dial

“Well?” You questioned as Mike stood there with the phone to his ear. “Is it ringing?” Will followed after.

“No, It’s just making a bunch of weird noises.” Mike replies. “Busy?” Will questions. “Listen to this.” Mike holds up the phone to Will's ear. “That remind you of anything?” It’s Mike’s turn to ask questions. “Wargames.” Will replies as both you and Jonathan go “What?” in confusion.

Jonathan takes the phone and holds it up so both you and him can hear it. Your nose scrunches at the noise on the other line.

“Oh my God, we’re not calling a phone. We’re calling a computer.” Will realizes as you all share a look of confusion.

“Now, I don’t know if Nina’s a computer like Joshua oe Owens’ lab, but Unknown Hero Agent Man gave us access to it for a reason.” Mike speaks as he walks towards the back of the van, pulling the back up. “We just need to find the computer. We find Owens, then warn him. Then we warn Eleven. I just need a hacker. The only hacker that I know lives..” He pauses to spread the map he had taken from the glove department out before pointing at a spot on the map. “In Utah.”

“Wait, Utah?” Both you and Jonathan question. “Salt Lake City, to be specific.” Mike replies.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Will rests his hands on his head.

You raise an eyebrow. “What? Why ‘Oh my God?’” Jonathan asks.

“Turn around. Look at what you see.” Will sings as Jonathan groans. “Oh no.”

“NeverEnding Story. That Scared the shit out of me. The Nothing, man? That’s some proper existential shit, dude.” Argyle speaks. “Yeah, I remember watching it with you and needing to walk you to the bathroom.” You chime in as Argyle snorts.

“You can’t be serious.” Jonathan asks Mike.

“If we take the 1-15 north, we’ll get there by morning.”

“Oh, you’re being serious?” Jonathan speaks in shock.

“We’re going to Utah?” You ask.

“I know it sounds insane, but Suzie saved the world last year. Maybe she can save it again.” Mike speaks before grabbing the map and jumping into the van

“Alright, everyone in the weed van!” You yelled as you gently shoved Argyle to hustle to the driver's seat.

Once everyone was accounted for and settled in the van, Argyle began to drive.

“Wow Utah, always wanted to go.” You gave a dreamy sigh before leaning over to rest your head near Jonathan as he sat in the passenger's seat.

“Wait, who's Suzie?”

“I was wondering the same thing.”

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers blurb #jonathan byers fanfiction #jonathan byers fanfic #jonathan byers x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfic #mike wheeler #will byers #argyle

366 notes · View notes

hahahahahangst · 2 years

Text

Prom Dress (Be the Young 8)

GIANT TW which will be valid for each episode for suicidal thoughts, self-harm, violence, cursing, relatives dying, mentions of sex, s*xual assault

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will break canon (mostly from the S2 finale) but will try to get back into it for the sake of ✨ lore ✨ . Summary: Emily's life used to be normal. Until one day, her family died, leaving behind just one letter.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

MASTERLIST

Prom dress

I tend to handle things usually by myself And I can't ever seem to try and ask for help I'm sitting here, crying in my prom dress I'd be the prom queen if crying was a contest Makeup is running down, feelings are all around [...] I guess I maybe had a couple expectations Thought I'd get to them, but no I didn't'

“So you guys have never hunted vampires before?” Asked Emily when they stopped at a gas station. Dean and Sam were going to swap places so that Dean could rest a bit while Sam drove. The eldest shook his head, confirming it was their first time. Emily could not help but get slightly anxious. She knew how good her brothers and John were, but she was also very worried that they would be outnumbered or taken by surprise by something.

The Sam and John situation didn’t help either.

Dean left the car to go pay for gas. Sam sat in the front, ready to drive. Emily stared at him through the rearview mirror. He looked angry and upset. Definitely not the mood she would have liked to go into hunting with.

“Sam?” She called, tentatively.

“Uh?” He looked in the rearview mirror, looking for her gaze.

“Listen… Can we, uh- press pause on this fight with dad for a second?” She said, he raised his eyebrows, surprised. “We do not know what to expect, we could be outnumbered. I don’t want-” She hesitated, trying to hide how unsafe she felt. A hint of mocking appeared on Sam’s lips. “I just don’t think we should be hunting while arguing like that.” He looked at her, then shrugged.

“Uh- sure? I can try.” he said. Emily wasn't too sure he was being serious, but Dean came back in the car just in that moment and so she was not able to investigate it.

“So, get this.” Said Sam, starting the engine while looking at Dean. “Emily wants to pause the fight with dad.”

Right, thought Emily, he was mocking her. She should have expected it. Dean raised his eyebrows as well, surprised. He looked back at her.

“I do not believe it. Did some sense finally grow into that bitch brain you have?” Chuckled Dean with a quaint, sarcastic smile.

“Shut up, Winchester.” she giggled back. Sam, however, looked very serious. Emily looked at him driving, unsure of why he would try to make fun of her for that.

It wasn't long until Dean's phone started to ring, their father calling. He spoke with him briefly, before hanging up and then reporting to Sam. “Pull off at the next exit.”

Sam's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “Why?”

“Because that's where dad thinks we should go.”

“How?” Asked back Sam, angrily.

“He didn't say.” Sighed Dean.

After that answer, Emily regretted not wearing her seatbelt for a couple of seconds. Sam dangerously overtook their father's truck and then cut him out, stopping the engine on the side of the street. John stopped right next to them. Sam stormed out of the car. Dean tried to stop him, but to no avail.

When Emily got out of the Impala, she heard Dean trying to stop her as well, but decided to ignore him and instead, give way to her instincts who said that she should punch her brother.

Hard. On the nose. Preferably causing damage.

He had not been the same since John was back. For a while, he was caring and he was nice to her, they had a good time together, especially being weird and geeking out of research and lore. But since John was back, he had gone back to being an unlikable son of a bitch, which was a concept Emily could not wrap her head around: okay, he didn’t like how John treated them, but what did she have to do with that? Why did she have to pay for the consequences? Mocking her for trying to keep everyone safe was really too much for her to keep shutting up about it. John was already walking towards Sam, angry. Before John could get there, Emily walked in front of her brother, cutting the way to their father. She pushed her brother from the shoulders, making him walk a couple of steps back for the excessive strength and pointing one finger at his chest, accusatively. “I asked you one. fucking. thing.” She spelled. “Only one. For safety. Since when are you too smart to listen to me?” She said, pushing him repeatedly. She soon felt her father's hand on her own shoulder. She rudely moved it away, determined to argue with Sam, who was however too busy staring at their father in anger to pay any attention to her. “God, you are an asshole.” She whispered, before snapping her fingers in front of his face aggressively and screaming “HEY!” Emily barely got his attention. “I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

“I just want some answers.” He finally said, staring at an indefinite point behind her..

“Oh, is that it, uh?” she said, sarcastic. “Sammy wants his answers? Sure, let’s put everyone in danger because he has no auto-control!” At that point, she was almost screaming at the top of her lungs.

Sam scoffed, finally looking at her. “You are one to talk about auto-control! How is it that you deal with your problems? Ah, right, you don’t! You cut yourself or have a nervous breakdown!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” She said, exasperated, mimicking a big “anything.” in front of her. Emily then shut her fist, ready to strike Sam. Suddenly, Dean intervened. He moved in the middle of the two siblings, moving Sam away while John did the same with his daughter. “Now, that's enough! Both of you, calm the fuck down.” Said Dean, stern. Emily shrugged her dad's hold away and made a couple of steps sideways. “You don't tell me what to do.” She whispered, low but not low enough so that Dean wouldn’t hear her. Dean scowled at her and was about to start arguing back, when he was interrupted by John's voice. “Emily, what is Sam talking about?” He said, trying to mimic a parenthood feeling Emily doubted he had ever felt in her regards.

“Great,“ she whispered, turning around, trying to gather some kind of patience. “Thanks, Sam.” She scowled at him. Then, she looked at her father. “When did everybody decide to suddenly care about how I deal with pain? It has never crossed your mind before, what happened now?” “It has been brought to my attention, that’s what.”

“Ah, because I was not enough of a sign? Someone had to tell you?” She said, this time walking towards John, threateningly. “Holy shit dad, LOOK AT ME!” She pulled her sleeves up, aggressively showing her father all the scars she was covered with. “Does this look like I am alright to you? Someone had to FUCKING TELL YOU?” She yelled. “All the times you heard me cry myself to sleep and all the times I locked myself into bathrooms was not enough? Did Sam have to tell you I was not fine?”

“You are a grown woman, I expect you to-”

“AND I EXPECTED YOU TO BE MY FAMILY!” She screamed, all her emotions finally topping out of her again in crying. “Goddammit, when- WHEN IS IT GOING TO BE THE TIME FOR YOU TO MEET MY EXPECTATIONS?!” She lashed out at him, who did not move an inch. Dean grabbed her arms and stopped her, holding her firmly away from their father.

“Is that what you think?” Said John, still looking relatively calm opposed to Emily. “You better start paying me and your brothers some respect, young lady, or-”

“So, now I am a young lady?” She said, bitterly. “I thought I was supposed to be a grown woman!” Not only was she furious, but his lack of any kind of interest towards the conversation, any kind of tone shift, made her even more angry.

“Until you keep behaving like-”

“Like what?” She said, escaping Dean’s grasp just for one second and regaining her position in front of her father. “A child? Is that what you were about to say? Is having feelings so childish to you?�� She had planned to stop, but the more she yelled, the more things came to her mind. “So what, I had a nervous breakdown! Boo-ooh.” she said, mimicking a child crying. “How I deal with my pain is my own business, not your unaffectionate asses’ for sure!” She pointed at the three men around her.

At that point, Dean was just looking at them, making sure the fight didn’t top off in the wrong direction. Sam was also looking, a little back, still looking extremely upset towards his father.

“Enough now. We have work to do.” Said John, closing his jacket and starting to walk back to his car.

Emily’s exasperated “Really? You son of-” was covered up from Sam’s voice: “We are not going anywhere.” Emily suddenly remembered who she was upset with in the first place.

“Sam, is there something you want to tell me?” Said John, reluctantly stopping again and turning around towards his sons again.

“That's an understatement.” Answered back Sam.

“Oh God…“ Whispered Dean, who had clearly hoped for a break, now having to separate Sam and John.

“Sammy, we should do this later.” He tried to intervene, but to no avail.

“I want answers.” Said Sam, ignoring Dean. “Last time we saw you…” He looked at John. “...you told us it was too dangerous to be together. Now you want our help? Why? There is obviously something big going on!”

Emily let out a disgruntled sound, drying her face from all the tears. “How many times do I have to tell you that there is no fighting while on a hunt?” Said John, barely reacting to Sam's words. “Get back in the car.”

“No.” Sam refused.

“I said,“ Emily saw her father gather all of his patience. ”...get back in the damn car!”

“And I said no.”

That childish answer was what made Emily snap again. “I thought I was supposed to be the kid…“ she muttered, making way for herself between Dean and her father. She pointed at Sam again, looking at him sternly and cold and holding her breath to try and not let out any other sobs. “Drop the attitude, Sam, I am not going to let us all get killed because you can't stop trying to prove you are a tough guy.”

“I am not going anywhere.” He answered. Emily's first instinct was to slap him, but she had to fight that urge back in order to prove a point.

“It wasn't a request. This is over.” She stared at him, feeling her anger slowly turning into tears again. She tried to stay as serious as possible. She felt Dean and John’s stare on the back of her neck. Sam stared back at her until he could see the light of a small tear breaking through the dam. He smirked.

“Damn, you really can’t keep a straight face for more than one second can you?” He mocked, cockingly walking away from her. “By the way,” he added, pointing at their father. “This is why I left in the first place.”John heard him and before Emily could do anything, the fight was back on.

“It was your decision to leave!”

“You are the one who said to not come back! You closed the door, dad, not me!”

While the two men discussed, Emily was standing next to Dean, nervously picking at her nails. All of a sudden, Dean spoke. “I hope you’re happy.”

“What?” She turned, thinking she had misheard.

“I said I hope you’re happy, this is what you wanted, right?”

“What? Not at all! I was actually saying we should do the opposite!”

“Yeah, right. But you’ve still been disrespectful to dad all this time, haven’t you?”

Emily blinked in disbelief, barely holding it together. “You know what?” She said. “I’m done!” She raised her hands and started walking towards the car. “God, I am so done.” She repeated. Dean looked at her as she walked away.

“What did you say?” He asked, following her while she opened the car door.

“I SAID I AM DONE! DONE WITH YOU, WITH SAM, WITH DAD!” She screamed. Dean looked between her and her father fighting with Sam. He hesitated for a second and then kept walking towards her. “I AM DONE WITH ALL OF YOU!” She repeated.

“Emily, calm down.” Dean tried to approach her, still gazing between her and the other fight.

“Stop pretending that you care!” She said, pushing him away. “It’s clear- clear as hell that you don’t give a shit about me!”

“Em-”

“Don’t you Emily me.” she mocked him, pretending to be him when he tried to calm her down. “Just admit it already! IF I KILLED MYSELF TOMORROW YOU WOULD NOT GIVE A SHIT!” He hit her. It wasn’t a punch. It was a slap. The kind parents give you when you cross that line. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!” She tried to answer with another slap but he was faster. He locked her arms crossed in front of her and pushed her on the car, locking her arms behind her. and preventing her from moving. "You need to calm the fuck down." Said Dean. Emily tried to squirm herself free, to no avail, but anger transformed into frustration, which made her break into sobs.

The fight going on between Dean and Emily seemed to have attracted Sam’s and John’s attention, and when she managed to see shapes in a defined way again, they were both staring at her. John was the first one to break eye contact with Emily, whose eyes were screaming “you did this to me.”, and hopped back onto his truck turning on the engine. It was a clear sign he was waiting for them. Sam followed, a couple of seconds later, accurately avoiding her gaze. He reached for the front seat, but Dean stopped him.

“Get in the back.”

“What?! Dean, come on-”

“I said, get in the back!” Roared back Dean, still not letting go of Emily. He finally freed her only when Sam had taken place in the back seat.

“You alright?” He asked, stretching his shoulder and assessing his jacket. She scoweld at him, meaning to get mad, but immediately felt her stomach contort and was forced to turn around in order to not puke on Dean.

After she had vomited, however, she went back in the car and reluctantly sat in the front with Dean, arms crossed in front of her and coldly staring in front of her.

She spent the rest of the trip trying to not give away that she was crying by delaying her sniffing and repressing her sobbing.

Eventually, she calmed down, although all the problems she had raised with Sam and her father remained clear in her mind.

A while later, they were getting ready to get inside of the nest. Emily took a machete from the trunk and sat back, waiting for everyone else to be ready and tried to not attract any unnecessary attention that would have led to more fighting. She leaned on the side of the car and looked at the sharp blade, inspecting it, hoping Dean was not going to try and bench her for the thousandth times that month. He tried to intercept her at least 20 times to ask her if she was okay, but Emily pretended to not hear him or changed the subject every single time. Her attention was raised by her father finally revealing the story of the gun they were after, which was presumably made by Samuel Colt and was able to kill anything.

John thought he could use it to kill the demon he had been looking for for the past 20 years.

The hunt was messy, the vampires woke up while they were trying to break into the nest, but they were all able to run back to the motel. There, John nonchalantly sent Emily and Dean to steal some dead man's blood from the morgue of a nearby hospital. The first part of the journey was pretty much silent, only animated by Dean humming songs on the radio but eventually, he tried to make some conversation. “Are you-”

“I swear to god,“ she immediately snapped, shutting her book. ”...if you ask me if I am okay one more time I am going to punch you.”

”...alright, change of subject then.” He looked around, searching for something to talk about. “What do you want to listen to?” He pointed at the box of cassette tapes lying on the ground next to Emily’s feet. She scoffed.

“Dean, we don’t have to talk. It’s okay.” She tried to reopen her book.

“But you see, that’s where you are wrong.” Said Dean. Emily closed her book back again, this time putting it on the dashboard, giving up on reading. “We are siblings, we should be able to talk.”

“Dean, we are not real siblings. We are half of that. It does not mean we need to like each other, it just means we have to deal with each other.”

“Half siblings are still siblings to me.” He gazed at her quickly. She stayed silent, trying to avoid answering. “So?” He asked a couple of minutes later.

“Okay, you know what?” She said, assessing herself in her seat. “You want to talk, let’s talk.” She slapped her hands on her thighs. “What do you want to know?”

“How are you doing? Really, I mean.”

“How specific do you want me to be?”

“As specific as you want.”

“Okay,“ she said. “but remember that you asked for it.” She sighed. “How do I put this lightly?”

“No need to.” Said Dean. She completely ignored him.

“I am tired. Not ‘go to sleep’ tired, but ‘i can’t take it anymore’ tired. My family is dead, my new family hates me, I tried to go out with a friend and I was kidnapped, Sam seems to hate me all of a sudden, dad doesn’t give a shit about anything that is not his crazy mission and you- well, you are just a pain in the ass!” She scoffed.

Dean didn’t answer. He kept driving and stared in front of him. Eventually Emily started reading again, shaking her head.

Her brother only spoke again once he had parked.

“By the way, we are worried. All of us, but especially Sam.” He said. “I don’t know what makes you think we don’t care, but we do.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean it.” She ignored him and stepped out of the vehicle.

When they arrived back at the motel, Dean gave their dad the blood they managed to collect and it was then time to dip dozens of arrows in it. Luckily it was a very repetitive task, so the time went by pretty quickly.

“Emily, have you ever used a crossbow before?” Asked her dad. The question took Emily by surprise.

“Well, no, obviously.”

“Then I guess it’s better if you stay home tonight.” The moment had arrived. Emily had been waiting for it for a while: John was benching her. It was not surprising.

“Anything you want me to do while I am here?” Emily asked. She didn't even try to argue back: after all, she was not in the mood to hunt anyway.

“You can be ready to hurry there if we need help.” Said her father. She shrugged and finished helping with the arrows.

The moment her brothers and father left felt kind of apocalyptic. The tension was palpable as they approached an enemy they didn't know much of. Emily looked at the door shutting in front of her and then stared at it for a while.

She spent the night worried to her bones. She kept pacing back and forth, waiting for a call, the keys of her father's truck in her hand, ready to leave, ready to run to them in case of emergency, checking her phone over and over. The whole night passed and she got no news. She was just pacing, all by herself. No calls, no texts.

One of them would have texted by now. After all, they were outnumbered and against something they had never fought before.

Maybe they were-

The door opened just as the thought was fabricating itself into Emily's mind. In silence, John, Dean and Sam entered, seemingly all in one piece, but tired.

She couldn't help herself and hide the relief in seeing them, so she lept towards Dean and hugged him right in the middle of the door frame. “You were worried about us or something?” He asked, dropping the bag he had and awkwardly hugging her back.

“You didn't call, I thought something bad happened.” She said, quickly letting go of him after realizing what she had done.

“Well, actually, your brothers disobeyed a direct order.” Her dad immediately brought down the mood. Emily sat on the bed for the first time since her family had left and rested her chin on her knees.

“We saved your ass.” Answered back Dean. Sam looked at him, taken by surprise by the sudden rebellion. John, instead, just looked a little bit angrier than usual.

“You are right.” The answer surprised all of them.

“I am?” Dean could not believe his own ears. Emily raised her head from her knees.

“It scares the hell out of me, but you are all I've got. I guess we are stronger together. I am sure if Emily was there, she would have been good too. We should go after that thing. As a family.”

The siblings looked at each other for a second before resuming their normal activity. Emily was the first to speak, when Sam took away his shirt, exposing a deep cut on his left shoulder. “I'll help you with that.” She said, searching for the supplies she gathered earlier in her bag. She disinfected his wound and covered it, not much talking happening other than “pass me that.” or “stand still”. Emily was trying her hardest to look angry and serious. but she was relieved that they were all fine. In the meantime, Dean also took away his shirt and Emily saw he was also wounded. He started to try patching up by himself, but she immediately stopped him. “Dean, don't you dare touch that with your clumsy, butcher hands!” She threw a box of tissues at him. He smirked but kept going. “This clumsy butcher saved your ass last time you were injured and could not hold a single needle.” “Shut up, you might have saved my life but I will never be able to wear a bikini again.” She threw him another unidentified box. He finally stopped. Then she looked over to her dad. “Dad, how are you doing? Need some help?” He shook his head, lying down on the bed and looking at her doing what was once supposed to become her job in regular society.

“I'm sorry about what I said earlier.” Said Sam to Emily while she was about to finish up. “I should have listened to you.” She did not acknowledge what he said. Instead, she stuck the last piece of tape way too aggressively and then announced that he was good to go. She heard Dean sighing in frustration behind her, but she was determined to not speak with Sam, as it looked like everytime she did she would find a new reason to punch him. She moved to Dean's bed. “Look at the mess you have made!” She said, taking a closer look at the wound. “There, pass me that bottle.” She pointed to a bottle resting to the night stand and started cleaning a small cut Dean had on his neck. “What on earth did you touch with those hands, dog shit?” She poured the content of the bottle on his cut, making him hiss in pain. “That's what you get for touching your cuts without washing your hands.”

“You have no idea how much I hate your bitch face right now.” Said Dean, breathing to the sting of the disinfectant.

“This bitch is making sure you don't get an ugly scar, so you should stay still.”

18 notes · View notes

perseverantdt · 1 year

Text

Reaching Out

You can't help someone who doesn't want to help themselves. But, perhaps, you can understand them first.

Word Count: 2292

A/N: This is an old side story from a WIP I've been making for quite a while now. After fleshing out the characters and the plot a bit more, this story is no longer canon to the main plot and as such, I would rather share it while I'm still working on more chapters for consistent posting.

Last time I was in this realm, Santhe and I slowly died as we remained fused. I pulled the both of us into this realm, hoping to escape the battle and let Santhe save himself. It was our physical body that took damage. Because of that, I should have been the only one who died. He didn't want to unfuse so he followed me to the grave.

Now, he's stuck in this realm, forced to live with the nightmare that his people had to endure. I should have been here much earlier. I should have been here from the very beginning, right when we took a rest at that inn. I felt him use his magic when the Santhe I was with appeared to be asleep. Instead, I kept hoping for something that would never happen. I hoped that everything that happened then was just a vivid dream. That we were just stuck in an unfamiliar world after staying in this realm for too long.

When it was apparent that everything did happen, I just ignored him. When he tried to confront me about it, I acted as if I didn't remember any of it. He asked me to listen to him, but I left, blinded by hate against those who sealed his people away. I wanted to protect him. But in my efforts to do so, I drove him even further into despair. What kind of a friend am I?

...

Focus, Ava. I have to be strong. I'm here to pull him out of his guilt, not to reflect on my own regrets. Besides... it'll be easier to do that once we're together. I just need to convince him that it's not his fault.

Where is he, though? Mind's Trance is a large realm. Plus, this place changes appearance based on the thoughts of the people near the area. I can't search this place easily. Maybe I can use this realm's properties to find him? If he's been here for quite a while, the area around him should look... darker. It should feel sadder. It should be more dangerous. But where could something...

That castle in the distance. It looks like it's enveloped in a massive thunderstorm. Could he be there? Why there, of all places? What's in that castle that...

He's a prince. He's the prince of Etheria. Of course he'd be there. His home would be there. But... how did he get there? That looks like a 3 day walk. He must have teleported there at some point. Could I do that too? I know I can use his magic but, with what just happened, he has to be recovering. I shouldn't use it too much. I'll try once.

I called into Santhe's soul and focused on the destination. I have not tried teleportation but I've felt how he uses this. I just need to focus his magic and imagine the destination. How it looks and if... there are places where I can easily get there. I felt some areas where I could feel myself getting pulled. I think he called them displacement points. One of them is level to the ground while the other is farther and a few spans above the ground. The farther one might be where he is but I'll use the closer point. I'm using magic from someone who's still unconscious.

I closed my eyes and imagined myself getting pulled to the point. When I opened them again, I found myself in front of the castle. This place has seen better days. There's all sorts of holes in the walls, all leading to what looks like an empty abyss. The banners adorning the place are all ripped up. Strangely, the lights appear to be shattered but no shards are present on the floor. At least it looks like he's cleaning the place.

I went deeper into the castle, using the other displacement point as a guide on where to go. Everywhere I look, there's holes all leading to the abyss. In some parts, entire chunks of walls are missing. Though... there's a clear pattern. It looks like the disrepair is getting worse. I'm definitely getting closer.

As I approached what could be the courtyard, I noticed a dark figure beside what appeared to be a fountain. Iris told me that there should be no one else here but this... this isn't how I remember Santhe looked like. Magical bodies tended to emit a weak light. This one doesn't. He looks similar to Santhe, except without a bluish tint. It looks like a... physical body.

Did he retain the body we shared when we fused? It makes sense to do so; we never unfused. But that would mean that I shouldn't be separated. If he's in the body we shared, it wouldn't make sense for me to be in my own body. What's going on?

"Santhe?' I called out. He turned to look at me. His expression seemed blank. His eyes looked like there was nothing behind them.

"Look who showed up," he said. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

He scoffed. "Last time I tried to talk to you, you ignored me."

"Please. I'm here now." Why is he being like this? This... isn't the Santhe I know. We fought sometimes, but never like this.

"I bet you didn't even know I'm here. Iris told you to come here, didn't she?"

... She did. I... I would not have been here if not for her. But... "I knew," I said. "I knew you were here."

"Then why?" There's... there's an angry look on his face. "Why did you let things be like this?"

"I wanted to protect you."

"Protect me? You abandoned me! You got me killed earlier! How is that meant to protect me?"

"That was an accident. We both know I—"

"Wasn't aiming for me? So what? It's my fault that I died? That because I tried to prevent you from killing someone, I got myself killed?"

"What? No! I—"

"What is it, then? The way I—"

"At least let me finish my sentence!" I shouted at him. He got startled with it. Did he even realize what he was doing? He wouldn't be that startled if he was being deliberate with that.

"You..." he said with a deep sigh. "You know I don't have to listen to you, right?"

"Still... I'm here to help."

"How can I even trust you? You're the reason I'm stuck here."

"I..." I stopped to think of what to say. This... this isn't the Santhe I know. It is him, but he's not the same Santhe I'm friends with 70 years ago.

"I want to fix my mistakes," I said.

"And? How is that supposed to make me trust you?"

"It... probably wouldn't."

He scoffed at my response. "You got that right, at least." Does he really distrust me that much?

"Just listen to me, please. I'm not here to hurt you."

"You don't have to say anything to hurt me. Just you being here already does that for me."

What... what does that mean? "Are you alright?"

"Am I?" He turned towards me with what looked like a mix of a tired and angry glare. "My death, which was very preventable, caused my people to be sealed into this place. I've got to live knowing that. Would you be alright with that?"

Is... Is this why he's here? He's not actually stuck here. He's willingly staying here to... avoid dealing with it?

... Can't say that I blame him. He's... we've been through so much. It would have been better if we never got revived. At least, that was that. We wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath. But now, with whatever happened that caused us to be revived, we have to live with the consequences of our actions.

"I have to deal with it too, you know."

"So what? That doesn't change what I have to go through."

"I know. I'm saying that you don't have to go through it on your own."

"Can't we just..." He sighed. "Can't we just let it be?"

"What else can we do? We're tired of running away. Hiding won't change anything. What else do we do other than dealing with it?"

"I can just stay here."

"What if someone comes here? Come on, Santhe. We both know how this place works."

He looked up, straight towards the other displacement point. He knows that anyone can just enter Mind's Trance and, if they know how this place works, modify this place to their whims. That point... is definitely something important to him. It's not something that he wants changed.

"You're just going to barge to my room, then?" So that point leads to his room.

"No. I'm here to talk to you, but I need you to be willing to talk to me."

"What if I refuse to talk regardless?"

"I'll wait here until you're ready."

I sat down on the ground, ready to wait for what he's going to do next. He looked at me with a piercing gaze. I... I could feel him stabbing me with a dozen daggers just with that stare. It's a soul read, but it feels like he's trying to rip me apart. I called out to his soul, but he didn't respond.

"Just leave me alone," he suddenly said and turned his back to me. "Please. I'm just tired of everything."

"That's why I'm—"

"No. You don't get it. I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of living a life that I shouldn't have. I'm tired of trying to be someone I can't be. I..." He stopped and looked up, towards the point. "I just want to take a rest."

Dust started to fall from all over his body. It looked similar to the dust that came out of our body back then. Is he...

"Santhe," I called to him. "We don't have to be the same as we were back then. We're not. We haven't died back then. We can just—"

"I don't want to change. We were happy back then. We had a nice life back then, unburdened by the consequences of our actions. Don't you want that life?"

I sighed. "I do but... we can't take the past back."

"We can recreate that here. Just like we've done countless times before."

"And live a lie, knowing that none of it is real? Santhe, that's not really what you want, right? I..." I looked into his soul, trying to read his thoughts. Still, nothing came up. "I know you don't."

He looked straight to the ground. I know he's trying to figure everything out but this isn't working out. He wants to stay here but it's not the best for him. Especially if this place is starting to disintegrate by the second.

I heard faint sobs coming from him. His dusting started intensifying. He's breaking down. I quickly ran towards him and quickly hugged him to comfort him. He usually doesn't like contact but... he needs it.

After a few seconds, he returned the hug even tighter. It felt calming. It reminds me of the time we lost track of each other in Mind's Trace long ago. I... I don't want to let go.

"I..." he said in a whisper. "I want to hate you. You've done so much harm to me. You caused my death. Twice. You're not letting me get what I want. And yet... I can't. Even at my worst... I can't bring myself to hate you."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't apologize to me. Apologize to..." He took a deep sigh. "...to him. I'm not the Santhe you're looking for."

"What... what do you mean by that?"

He pushed me away, separating me from his dusting body, which intensified even more.

"Does... does the Santhe you're looking for have a physical body?"

"No, but I've never seen him in this realm."

"That's true but you know this body. This isn't Santhe. This..." He raised his hands. "This is the two of us. This is the result of our mistake, with the mind of the one you're looking for. What do you think I am?"

The result of our mistake... the mind of Santhe... I think I know how to get through to him now. It's not going to be an easy task, but it's possible.

"Our time has been up 70 years ago. Yours isn't. I failed to save the both of us. Please. Do better than me."

I looked towards the displacement point. I felt a weird aura coming from the place. I can't take long. If all this destruction, along with this person, is the result of Santhe's emotions, it'll eventually reach his room. He might be trying his best to maintain it as his safe room, but I don't think it'll hold forever.

"I'll try."

"Goodbye, Ava."

"Goodbye."

I felt everything around me warp as the Santhe in front of me teleported away. I wanted to head towards Santhe's room but... something felt wrong.

"You know," I shouted. "If you really are Santhe as well, can you... help me talk to him? You don't have to do it right now but... you know I won't be able to do it alone."

Nothing responded. But I expected that. Santhe... isn't up for conversation right now. He's...

Did I even do the right thing? She just wanted to protect everyone and yet, because of me, she accidentally killed me.

He's awake. I should get going now. I don't have much time. I closed my eyes and focused on the other displacement point.

#perseverant-writes #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #ethereal dreams #ethdreams side stories

0 notes

kass-storycorner · 3 years

Text

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Hu Tao and Chongyun storyquests the past days. Both deal with the afterlife (well the border between life and death so far) and ghosts. We know both are canon in Genshin, they exist for this world. Now what I’ve been thinking a lot about is … how much angst can I write with that in mind? I always see a lot of these how the characters would react to your death but… yeah, have fun with this. Or not.

The ghost of you

Prompt: You died and the characters are faced with the literal ghost of you.

Genre: Angst, Hurt, no comfort (especially for Xiao)

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao,

Format: text

Word count: 1714

This is not proof-read or anything, I just wanted to get that idea out of my head. I also really want to write this idea out for other characters, so maybe I'll share a part 2 in the future. and yes the title might be a mcr reference and i might have two other fics in my drafts named after mcr songsi had a rough week okay

Zhongli:

He loved you. With all his heart, with every fibre of his being, he loved you so much. Zhongli always knew that his decision to live a life among mortals would cost a price, but in his mind, it was paid with his Gnosis all those years ago. It was not until the first of his mortal friends started to die that Zhongli was reminded of how fragile humans were. Of course, he was aware to a certain degree that he would outlive his friends and even you, he just never considered how quickly a human life was lived. You both had spent an entire life together, and while Zhonglis body did not biologically age, he is able to change his form to his liking - so when you grew old and grey so did he. Most people in Liyue would see the two of take your stroll around the city, holding hands and they were enamoured by the way you still looked at each other, just like a newlywed couple. But you grew older each day until one day, on one of your walks through the city, your collapsed. Zhongli was quick to catch you and the people around rushed towards the two, helping Zhongli getting you to a doctor. However, what was a doctor to do, than to tell Zhongli that your body is giving up? The doctor nor Zhongli can do anything against the flow of time, though Zhongli wished he could. He was not ready to let you go, he was not ready for you to onyl life in his memories until the erosion of the earth will erease you from them.

You layed in the hospital bed, Zhongli right next to you never letting go of your hand, when you took your last breath. He sat next to you for a while, not saying a word, tears running down his face until he heard your voice.

"It's okay," there you stood on the other side of the bed, your dead body between the two of you. In all the years Zhongli lived he had seen more than a few ghosts and he was aware of the human afterlife - though seeing your ghost wasn't something he anticipated. "You're dead", Zhongli said quietly, tears still spilling from his eyes. "I know, love. I know. And I wish I could've stayed with you just a bit longer, I really do. But it's time. You gave me such a wonderful life; we spend so many years together and I am so thankful for it Zhongli. For all the stories you told me, for all the sleepless nights we spend together, for all the memories we made. I loved it. I love you." Zhongli still hadn't let go of your hand, still afraid of letting you go, even though the mind he loved was standing so close to him. "Love," he started, his voice heavy with grief. "I have so many more stories to tell you. Will you stay, just for a while longer?"

At that you had to laugh a bit and oh, how much he already missed your laugh. He just heard it a few hours ago, when you were still alive, but hearing it now just felt so painful. "Zhongli, even 10 lifetimes wouldn't be enough to be able to listen to all of your stories. But I'm so sorry to disappoint you, you know I can't stay."

He knew this just too well. Not only as someone who worked for decades as a consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue, but also as the former Geo-Archon he knew it was better for you to go. It pained him that he could never follow you into the afterlife that was awaiting you, even Zhongli didn't know what awaits you behind the border between life and death. "Then," Zhongli began, standing up and letting go of your cold hand, "let me accompany you."

Xiao:

Continuation for the Xiao one

Xiao refused to go even near the place you died for decades. The day he lost you was still so fresh in his memories, it pained him even more than his karmic debt to think about it. He always told you, when you were still by his side, that when you were in trouble, in danger, to always call his name. You did. You always did and he would be by your side, protecting you from what would’ve harmed you. The only time you refused to call his name in time was the day you died, and all Xiao could do was blame himself. You were visiting at the Inn earlier that day, standing next to him on the balcony talking about something he doesn’t even remember. What he remembers how happy you were, how enthusiastic you talked about it, whatever it was. Somehow though the conversation shifted, and you both ended up fighting – the reason for it was so stupid and it was all his fault. He was just in a bad mood that day and not even your warm presence were able to change it, so he let it out on you. Trying to push you away, again. Xiao cursed himself for how often he did that, how often he would hide how much he loved you, how much he cared for you, behind a mean exterior that only caused you pain. You knew what he was doing and that day, you just had enough. “Stop trying to push me away, Xiao!”, you shouted at him, tears already filling your eyes. You tried to reach for him, but he pulled away. Keeping you at a distance, again. “And you just stop talking, it’s exhausting to hear your voice.” Xiao already hated himself immediately after he said it, but looking back now, knowing what his words caused… it drove him close to madness. “Fine,” you replied, and he could her how much his words hurt you, “then you’ll never hear it again.” With that you left him. He tried to distract himself from the guilt he felt after your fight with his work, slashing through the enemies, spoiling the earth of Liyue with more blood. For nearly a month he didn’t hear you call him, and he was too scared to seek you out. Scared that you wouldn’t want to see him, scared that he ruined it all. When you finally called for him, when he finally heard you say his name – he hoped it was a chance for him to make it up to you. Xiao was not prepared to find your lifeless body, realising that you called his name with your very last breath. It send him into a blind rage, killing the enemies around him that were the cause for your death. When there was nothing left to kill he collapsed next to your corpse, tears spilling from his eyes, chanting your name over and over like a prayer. Asking himself why you hadn’t called him sooner to only remember what he said weeks prior. It was his fault. He couldn’t help it but to blame himself for your death. If he hadn’t said those words, if he hadn’t continuously tried to push you away… you were right. Xiao will never hear your voice again.

He avoided to go even near the place you died. If he hadn’t done that, if he had visited at least once, he would’ve seen your ghost, wandering aimlessly around. At first you were just confused, what had just happened? The last thing you remembered is that you called for Xiao and now? Now you stood in the middle of a forest, no Xiao in sight but also the enemies who cornered you just now were also gone. For how long you wandered around, confused and not sure what had happened you didn’t know. It scared you. You screamed his name, over and over again but you couldn’t hear your own voice. You just couldn’t make a sound.

He didn’t mean to come across that place again. Xiao learned to live with the guilt and grief he felt, just as he had to learn to live with his karmic debt. Still, it hurts more than he likes to admit. So when he stumbled upon the place he lost you all those years ago, he asked himself how he ended up here again. Something was telling him he should come here, but he tried to ignore that voice, that calling. But when he saw your ghostly figure between the trees of the forest, it used to be a plain field when you had died, he froze. Was it really you? “(Y/N)?”, he called out to you. Oh, how long he hadn’t said your name. It felt foreign, but also so familiar at the same time. But you didn’t hear nor see him, you were too lost after years of roaming the fields that grew to a forest – not being able to understand that time passed, that you were dead. Xiao came closer to your ghost and saw how you screamed something, over and over. His name. It was his name. “(Y/N) it’s me, I’m here. Please, I’m here, it’s okay”, his voice was strained and when your face met his – Xiao noticed how you didn’t look at him. You looked right through him, he noticed now how he couldn’t reach you with his words nor his presences. He tried to grab you, but his hand only touched the air. If he could at least hear you call his name. Xiao felt how his tears ran down his face, his heart shattering again in thousand pieces. Why hadn’t he noticed it earlier how you roamed the earth, lost and scared. He saw it in your face. Why didn’t he come here earlier? It pained him to know that you hadn’t found your peace. Xiao went down on his knees, face buried in his hands. The last time he felt so helpless was when he found your dead body, unable to help you. And now? Now it happened again, he had no idea what he could do to help you, to make you see him. From that day on Xiao spend most of his time watching over your ghost, hoping that one day he’ll hear you call out to him again.

507 notes · View notes

littlebreadboy · 2 years

Text

The difference between FNAF’s villain and BATIM’s villain is astounding. While both remain within a similar premise, I honestly have to argue that Joey Drew is an undeniably more interesting villain.

To put it into perspective:

William Afton is a very “flashy” villainous character. He seems to have little to no motivation for his first kill (whether that was Charlie or someone else, I can’t remember) and even if he somehow did know about remnant beforehand, it’s unlikely that would have been possible without killing something first. Without direct motivation or reason, it kind-of leaves us with a vague idea of who he is. Its arguable that the loss of his son drove him around the bend, however its impossible that pre-existing mental illness didn’t exist within him if that alone somehow drove him to murder children, which is never really brought into light.

Along with that, if we consider how he acts in the novels (if we are to take his personality as canonical) he’s very Disney-villain in the way he acts. The scene with Carlton and the springlocks only further cemented this; his actions are best described as goofy and odd. To me, at least, it seems as though he was meant to be- or maybe, just meant to come off as- calculated, cold, and psycho/sociopathic. But that idea, within the way the novels are written is just… Not possible. Of course, though, I’m not saying he’s a bad character. I think he’s interesting to pick apart, and its undeniable that his presence and voice in the games are quite bone-chilling, albeit overused. (Once again I am very salty that Vanny got, like, no screen-time, and also that its implied that she was under some sort of manipulation/control from Afton. Like? Let her be a villain on her own please) Despite all this, as aforementioned, I don’t believe he’s a complete failure, I just believe he’s a rather unbelievable villain for the laws of the universe in which he exists in.

Moving on to Joey Drew, however:

There are a lot of reasons for why I think Joey is just better, especially after the release of ‘The Illusion of Living’ which directly characterized the kind of man he is/was.

Joey is cold and calculating. We know from audio logs and world-building that he is manipulative and cruel, although its rare to ever hear or see this side of him directly from him, which further cements this idea of him possessing a feigned presence of joyous capability and business-awareness. From what we read and see, he often acquires a deviated personality of complete confidence and intelligence beyond most other character’s understanding. Which is part of what makes him so great.

In DCTL, for instance, we see Buddy, a teenager, acquiring a job at JDS. Despite the audiences/readers knowledge of who Joey is, we don’t receive that image until very close to the end of the story, when Buddy himself comes to the cold realization of which. This timing is reasonable and slow-burning. The story, while having a few discrepancies, shares a very close and deep understanding of just how Joey’s manipulation would work. Its incredibly interesting to see this progression, albeit a bit scary at times when faced with the reality of the situation.

And, moving on to motivation, it’s very clear what Joey wants. As his business falls apart, Joey clings onto whatever he can to keep it running. He abuses his employees, creates multiple instances of an unsafe work environment, and encourages overtime and eliminates the idea of sick days with this seemingly odd ideation of quick work=success. When this doesn’t work for him, and the budget is spent, Joey pushes onward. He thirsts for success in dangerously terrifying ways; he’s willing to sacrifice everything he cares about to achieve it. When he starts sacrificing people to the machine, it can be greatly assumed that Joey genuinely does not see what he’s doing as morally incorrect (and that, if he does, he just doesn’t care) which makes it all the more chilling. As the studio falls apart more and more, he grows desperate, seething with ideas of revenge and complete anger, which ends up causing the ‘death’ of many employees. When he fires Susie, he latches onto her fragile mental state to manipulate her into believing she wants to be Alice. Whether she fully understood what the offer entailed is unclear, however her gushing admiration for ego-boosting compliments seems to be a critical part of her personality, which Joey seems to understandably practice to aid in pushing her toward what he wants from her.

By the end of the story, when the studio has fallen, Joey doesn’t seem to want to give up, and if we assume the game lore to be directly canonical rather than a metaphor for the downfall of the studio, then we can visualize how this need for stopping a great collapse seems to push him to his absolute limit, when he invites Henry to the studio, and everything tears apart.

From all of this, we can gather Joey’s motivations, his personality, and all of the other conniving details of himself. His presence never feels unnecessary or strained; he’s always where he is for a reason, which is SO important. On top of which, unlike Afton, I have genuinely never met anyone who has been a fan of him purely based on his character and his actions. There is no attraction to his erratic behaviour, and even though he sometimes comes off as cartoon-villain, it fits within the laws of the world he resides in.

*please keep in mind this is purely my op and you’re welcome to feel otherwise*

#wow that definitely did not take me a full fourty five minutes to write #like holy shit #anyways #lmao #sorry for the essay #bendy and the ink mahine #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #batim #joey drew #henry emily #henry stein #william afton #springtrap #scraptrap #burntrap #glitchtrap #im so tired

37 notes · View notes

deepdonutkid · 3 years

Text

Put your head on my shoulder

Requested: yes, by @sighonahurricane

Pair: Tommy Shelby x female reader

Request: I'm here to make a request based on a list you just posted. Would you please do a piece with 7 from fluff and 10 from the list just after that, with Tommy Shelby? Something like this below? (Tommy laying his head in her lap?🥺🥺)

7. “Your hair is so soft.”

10. “It’s funny, in that dark terrible way I mean.” “You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was fine, would you?”

Summary: After one dirty and dark night, Tommy comes home to his wife and can’t find sleep. Maybe his wife can help him.

Author’s note:

The story is with a reader, but not written with the you form, because the story focus on Tommy. Also... I have problems writing fluff for him, so this is bittersweet.

English is not my native language and this is not proof read.

Enjoy reading! Tagging: @bonniesgoldengirl @justalonelyslytherin @retromafia (because we already talked about this fic) @theshelbyclan

Words: 1,4k

Warnings: canon typical violence

It was business as usual for Tommy, but this day felt so much longer than just twenty-four hours. Somehow it was more tiring and more exhausting than his usual work day.

After he had left the office, he couldn’t even go straight home. No, instead he had more work to do, but not of the legal kind. The shady side of his business needed his undivided attention and this time he couldn’t outsource it. Tommy had to do it himself. It was the ugly part of his activities.

But he was used to it, as far as anybody could get used to that kind of work. He had done it many times before on his way to the top and now he had something like a routine with it. After all murder was just a business, a very cold and lonely one, but it was part of the reason why he became so successful.

His driveway to his mansion, symbol of his new status, was paved with blood and bones of enemies and friends. Sometimes the death was a collateral damage, like it was with Danny, but today it was the calculated outcome of his plans.

He already ruled half of England, but nevertheless he had to demonstrate his powers once again. Nobody could forget about it or question his position on the throne.

It was a bloody type of work and Tommy hated every minute of it. Besides the psychological damage, murdering someone was also very draining, as well as digging the shallow grave for that poor fella, who had crossed paths with the almighty Tommy Shelby.

A sign of relief left his lips, when he was finally done. He put the shovel in his car and cleaned up his face with his handkerchief. Somewhere along the process the pale skin of his sunken cheeks got stained with blood and dirt. He didn’t care about it anymore. The smell was omnipresent in his life and he couldn’t escape it. However, he was concerned about his wife, who was probably still waiting for him. The last thing Tommy wanted was to upset her. On top of that, he couldn’t stand when she asked him which blood it was. It was rarely his, but of course she would be worried about him anyway.

All on his own he drove through the dark, making his way home. His body was tired, when he climbed the stairs to the Arrow House, but his mind was still wide awake from all the things he did that day. Most present in his thoughts was the murder. The scene kept playing in his head over and over again.

Tommy forced a small smile on his lips, when he entered his bedroom and found his wife. “Why are you still awake?”, he asked: “You know, you don’t have to wait for me.” It was platitude, yes, but he said it anyway. Usually he wasn’t the type of person, who would say such a thing. Still he said it every time after he came home late at night, after a certain kind of work… It was part of his ritual.

“And hello to you too, Thomas”, she scolded him: “Also… you know very well, I can only sleep when you’re right by my side. Safe and sound.” She turned out of bed and walked the few steps to greet him with a kiss. Nevertheless she was still very caring, even though he didn’t deserve it most of the time.

Of course, he tried to be a good husband for her. He started to undress himself and when he was just in his boxer shorts, he presented her his woundless body. “See? Safe and sound”, he grunted: “Now let’s go to bed again.”

She took his hand and pulled him to their marital bed. Her voice was as soft as her silken nightdress when she whispered: “Only if you come with me, love.”

Her husband sighed, but followed her lead and got between the blanks.

Just like usual he was the big spoon and she was the little spoon. He kissed the back of her head and inhaled the scent of her hair.

But even though he stuck to his routine, he couldn’t find sleep. Most of these days, he was so tired, the sleep caught him, before his thought of guilt did. And after all this time and all the bad things he did, there was still plenty of guilt left. Actually it was piling up, like a mountain of his sins.

Today the demons in his head were stronger than the desperate desire of sleep from his body. He laid there for a while, before he realized, he was still too mentally involved with all his scandalous deed.

What Tommy now needed, was distraction. So he approached his wife. “Y/N?” Maybe she was still awake like him. His voice was throaty, but also incredibly needy. In the daylight and most of the time the Shelby acted like he didn’t need anyone, but in the comfort of his bed he was ready to show his vulnerable side.

A little sleepy and so quiet, he almost didn’t hear it, she said under her breath: “Yes, dear?”

“I can’t sleep”, he confessed and gave her hand a squeeze.

She turned around to look him in his ocean eyes. The wheels in her head were turning, he could sense it and after a while she suggested: “Okay, how about you put your head on my lap and tell me about your day.”

The worried were visible in his face. There was no point in lying about it, “You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was fine, would you?”, Tommy asked and she shook her head silently. She was the only person who understood him even without words. Sometimes he didn’t need to say anything, she just sensed, when something was wrong.

But today he needed to make that clear. “I don’t want to talk about my day”, he objected and put his hand on her cheek. His thumb caressed her soft skin oh so gentle. The shire thought about his day made him grumpy. Plus, it was also the cause of his current problem.

With an intense gaze in her eyes she stared at him and then poked his nose with her index finger. “I’ll tell you about mine.”

Then she sat upright and leaned against the headboard. Demanding she patted her lap as a sign he should come over and rest his head on her warm thighs.

Again he did just like she ordered. Tommy had left his dominance at the doorstep. Now he wasn’t the dangerous and evil gangster boss, but just a simple, yet tired man.

There was something spiritual about the way she ran her fingers through his hair. She had just started, but Tommy already felt way calmer, than before.

“The kids were hilarious today. You should have seen them. Charlie asked if horses could smoke like humans did”, she explained: “And Rosa ate her first biscuit today. She had wet crumbs all over her face. It was so adorable.”

He laughed a little, but he was sad at the same time, because he had missed these moments with his children. Tommy really wished he had been there. But what did he do instead? Making business, getting more money, threat and eventually kill people.

Tommy was completely caught up in his thoughts, when his wife mumbled: “Your hair is so soft.” She sounded almost surprised, as if she wanted to know the secret behind his silken smooth hair.

“What?” was all he said in his confusion about the sudden change of subject.

Now she was giggling and shook her head. “I said you’re incredibly soft for a tough gangster boss.”

The Shelby rolled his eyes and grumbled: “Don’t say that” which caused his wife to laugh even harder.

She had to calm down, before throwing in a question: “Why?”

“Because that’s a secret! What would the people think?”, he explained to her and tried to look up, to see her face.

Again she laughed and vowed: “I will keep your secret then… but it’s funny, in that dark terrible way I mean… right here you’re my Tommy, my husband and my everything, but everybody else think you are a horrible person.”

“But you don’t think that, eh?”

His wife clucked her tongue and answered: “I could never.”

335 notes · View notes

stxleslyds · 3 years

Note

What do you think about the theories that Jason was sexually abused as a child? Or even possibly while he was comatose after his resurrection?

Implications of this theory include his conversation with Mia (Speedy) and Bruce's message (Battle for the Cowl). In addition, when he was Robin he expressed what was then considered uncharacteristic rage towards the perpetrators of sex crimes.

Garzonas - unrepentant rapist who got no consequences

When a woman killed her sister's rapist and murderer (because Batman's evidence was not admissible in court), Batman said that she went too far with murder. Jason's disagreed with "Good riddance". Good for you, Jason.

His recklessness when dealing with a child sex trafficking ring.

I highly doubt that DC would ever confirm this theory. I would rather they leave it ambiguous because I don't trust them to not botch Jason... much less respectfully address the subject matter.

I have read so many thoughts on Jason that they're starting to blend together. So I apologize if you've already answered this before.

Hello friend! Aside from the fact that I took way too much time to answer your ask, this was also a hard question to come up with an answer to, I wanted to remain respectful of the subjects at hand even though I don’t second this headcanon. But before we keep going, let me put some trigger warnings in this post.

trigger warning: mentions of sexual abuse, child abuse, rape.

First, I would like to bring up these two concepts because I oftentimes mix them up when talking about these “ideas”.

Theory: a supposition or a system of ideas intended to explain something; an idea used to account for a situation or justify a course of action.

Headcanon: Headcanon generally refers to ideas held by fans of series that are not explicitly supported by sanctioned text or other media. Fans maintain the ideas in their heads, outside of the accepted canon.

I think the idea of Jason having been sexually abused at any point in his lifetime is a mix between a theory and a headcanon. Why I am saying this? Because as you have put in the ask, there has been instances where fandom has found pieces of information that they have considered the base of this idea.

So, if we say that there is a piece of text that might support that idea and they build from that to justify a course of action we would be looking at a theory. In this case Jason having been abused would the reason as to why he acts in that strong and violent way towards cases of sexual abuse/harassment.

In the other hand those pieces of text might not support that idea so fandom headcanons that idea in order to build another layer to a character, in this case Jason having been abused would also justify his actions towards certain criminals.

The “text” (panels, issues, mentions) are most of the time ambiguous, which makes readers have different perspectives in what is being written and what then is made into a theory or headcanon.

Personally, I don’t like this theory or headcanon for various reasons (which I will explain later in the post), and I have read and understood those moments mentioned as Jason just having survived Crime Alley as something general, I don’t think he suffered that kind of abuse but I think he was made aware of that type of behaviour every day that he spent alone in the streets and that why we saw Jason in Batman #408 saying that he had “graduated a long time ago from the streets of crime alley”.

Having said that, I do understand that some of the moments mentioned can be seen as ambiguous and that’s what leads people to theorize/headcanon that idea, because of that I would like to show the panels mentioned in your ask so everyone can read them and make up their own conclusions and then I will talk about the reasons why I don’t like this particular theory/headcanon.

As Robin:

Batman (1940) #422

In these panels we can see Jason as Robin jumping in to defend a woman that was being attacked by a man. There I only see Jason acting like a vigilante would, maybe he was hitting too hard or whatever but Batman has hit people as much as Jason was doing it this time around, plus I, personally, don’t see any kind of problem with Jason beating a man that was harassing and threatening a woman with death.

Right beside we have Jason being on the side of the woman that killed her sister’s attacker. He didn’t see any problem with that woman seeking justice for her sister on her own when the police, Batman and himself couldn’t get the job done.

Here I see Jason having a big problem with authorities and justice system, which is not something new, in Batman #408, Jason says very clearly that he doesn’t trust the system in Gotham (the police, social workers and such), and he was also shown in that comic talking very fondly about his mother and about how much he cared for her when she was at her worst. Let’s remember that Jason loved his mother, he took care of her and resented his father for being abusive towards her and even introducing her to drugs.

Instead understanding these panels as Jason having been abused himself, I see it more as Jason having a humongous understanding of how much women and others suffer in Gotham due to the justice system’s lack of action. I also see Jason as the kind of boy that respected all women and could not sit and do nothing when people were hitting and abusing women just like his father did to his mother.

Batman (1940) #424

This issue starts by saying that Jason jumps into action as soon as he hears someone scream but that he wasn’t going to be prepared to see what was happening. This is the issue where all of us meet Felipe Garzonas, the abuser and rapist of many women. At first Jason doesn’t know what Felipe was doing but after he and Batman “defeat” Felipe, he goes to the room where he finds Gloria in a bed badly hurt and scared. Jason is shocked when he first finds her and after hearing her story in the police station, he becomes more and more happy about the fact that by having caught Felipe, he and Batman would be able to offer some peace and justice to Gloria after he goes to jail, but that doesn’t happen.

They had all the evidence to put Felipe in jail and the police could easily see that Gloria was the victim but because Felipe had someone to back his made-up story up, he was able to not be arrested and jailed.

Jason once again is baffled at the lack of action by the police or simply justice not being able to be made in favour of the true victim. Batman even says that he has noticed that Jason “had become to emotionally invested with the case” which could favour either idea (Jason having suffered sexual abuse or not), in my case I see this once again as Jason not being able to remain calm after doing everything to keep that woman safe and the justice system not being able to do it themselves in a more permanent way (jail time, or whatever).

But that’s not all because Jason being too emotional with that case was brought up as a way to show that Jason couldn’t see that Felipe had been under the influence of drugs, which is something that Jason can see in people very well (do to experience with his mother and his training with Batman). So, Felipe is now a rapist, an abuser, he does drugs and he also has a market for it.

Because Felipe was allowed to go back to his “normal” life he had Gloria be killed, and he kept abusing drugs and women, when Jason finds Gloria’s dead body and that Batman still seems to abide the justice system he snaps. He goes alone to see Felipe and that’s were this iconic panel comes from. The moments before Jason made his first kill and felt no remorse about it. I know this is kinda soft topic because Jason was a teenager, but good for him, kill that bitch. Gotham doesn’t need more people like him.

Batman (1940) #226

This is the issue where Jason attacks the men that were involved with some very nasty stuff involving children. Batman narrates and says that him and Jason had been working on this case for three weeks. Jason jumps into action suddenly and “recklessly” even though Batman considered their investigation wasn’t over, he also says that he thinks that Jason had been “acting oddly” and that he was very “moody, resentful and reckless” and that that attitude could “get him killed”.

This could be used as to add more proof of the abuse idea but I actually see it as build up to Jason’s death, that happened two issues later. Let’s remember that Jason found out of his birth mother and was desperate to find and save her from Joker, because he was a good son but also because he didn’t feel like Bruce loved, cared or appreciated him anymore. Ever since Jason made it clear that he didn’t see the world and justice in the same way that Batman did back in issue #422, Jason and Bruce’s relationship suffered, they just couldn’t see eye to eye on some subjects and Bruce’s neglect or lack of care for what Jason believed in drove Jason to act the way he did in the case involving his mother and the Joker.

Jason obviously has major issues with kids being abused and put in dangerous situations, he as the Red Hood (Winick’s Red Hood) is the same, he really wants kids to be taken far away from drugs so they cannot be manipulated, used and abused by Gotham’s Drug Lords. Here I can see some of the same thing, Jason being protective of those kids and getting fed up with how much time he and Batman had to wait to do anything about the subject, along side it I bet Jason wasn’t seeing the police or the justice system doing anything about the whole thing so that could have probably fuelled his desperate attack of those horrible people.

As Batman/Red Hood:

Batman: Battle for the Cowl #3

Battle for the Cowl… yeah I am going to be brutally honest about this, if anyone thinks that this is someway or somehow proof that Jason had been abused in the past then I think we have very different ways of thinking how survivors must be treated or written in comics and other media.

This to me is pure bad writing, this is some of the worst things I have seen being written in comics. Whether or not this implies Jason being abused or not, Bruce’s message is absolutely disgusting and not at all helpful, it is even worse when you realise that Dick, a canon sexual assault survivor, is the one playing the message to Jason even though Jason explicitly said that he didn’t want to hear it again. That Book, issue, page and panel are extremely badly written and is one of the most terrible Jason and Dick characterizations ever.

So, I don’t really care if this panel is supposed to offer support to that theory or headcanon, I really dislike that speech and if it is actually referencing Jason as being a survivor of child abuse, then Tony S. Daniel needs to make an apology from today to the day he dies.

“Of all my failures, you have been my biggest” “You were broken and I thought I could put the pieces back together. I thought I could do for you what could never be done for me. Make you whole” “What happened to you as a child… the terror, the pain, the horrors” “You needed repair and instead I gave you an outlet to act out on”

Absolute garbage writing. Me, as Bruce is number one hater, know that that speech is even out of character for Bruce. Listen, if Jason had been a victim of sexual assault or just being a kid living alone in Crime Alley, no one should leave a message like that, telling a victim that they were broken and needed fixing, what the hell? No, thank you, this issue proves nothing except that Battle for the Cowl was a mistake as a whole.

Green Arrow (2001) #72

Judd Winick is clever I will always say that, and while I do see why people think that Jason is making the “child abuse idea” canon I still think that the way that he talks is still fairly ambiguous if not just him playing mind games with Mia.

I know it sounds wrong, but hear me out, Winick, in this arc makes Batman say that Jason distracted him and Oliver just to take Mia as a “hostage” because that was Jason’s way to mess with him. This arc happens right after UtRH and Jason is a bit more unhinged than ever. But he doesn’t harm Mia, he just talks to her, he tries to make her see why he acts the way he does and to do that he talks about how much he sees of himself in her. Do I believe that Jason suffered the same things Mia did? No. Do I think that their past is similar? Yes.

But Jason doesn’t only use the fact that they have similar pasts to make Mia rebel against her “no killing ways” and Oliver like he did with Bruce, but he also brings up the fact that their past is incredibly different to the lives of Bruce and Oliver, and that those differences are of importance.

Maybe it’s just me, but I didn’t see Jason bringing Mia’s past for anything other than manipulating her and kinda make her see Oliver in a negative light the way that he does Batman and Bruce. Jason was at a point in his life where all he wanted to do was deliver the same pain that he had gone through but he didn’t do it by physically harming anyone (Mia was left unscratched), he was just out there trying to play mind games so he could break more havoc in Batman’s name.

Mia’s past is just way too different to whatever we have seen in canon from Jason’s past. Maybe I am wrong, after all, I only read about Mia in that arc.

With all that having been said I think it’s pretty obvious that I just don’t think that Jason’ having been sexually abused as a child actually happened, and I also don’t like to think about his past in that way. His canon suffering could have made him act that violently against criminals involved with sexual attacks and drug-related crimes, but I also think that’s just how Jason was, he really disliked the justice system in Gotham and saw how much it failed to protect victims, so now that he had the training to help those who couldn’t do it for themselves, he tried his best to bring criminals to justice.

And when that didn’t work, he grew more and more frustrated with Batman’s methods which led him to be more unforgiving and violent.

I also don’t like the theory/headcanon as a whole because I think its one of those things that Fandom comes up with just for that extra angst factor in their favourite character’s story so they can make him suffer more and because of that no other Robin or character as a whole can ever understand his pain or whatever. In this fandom there is a lot of “competitive trauma” going on and I honestly dislike it a lot.

About Jason having been assaulted while he was in a coma, I don't really know, he was at a hospital for what I believe were six moths, maybe that idea comes from real life happenings but I have never thought of that happening in Jason's life and I would rather not give it much more thought.

Also, I believe that DC just like fandom would have never been able to handle the subject of Jason having been a sexual assault survivor with the respect and care that it actually needs. We have seen DC treat sexual harassment and abuse as nothing but a side plot or bringing it up in an extremely disturbing way. In Fandom some (very few) people end up glamorising or romanticising these subjects so, I don’t believe the comic world was or is ready to treat a backstory like this with the respect it needs.

Maybe I haven’t even treated the subject with the respect and care that it needs and if that’s the case then I am truly sorry.

I had never answered a question regarding this subject before and I really appreciate all the questions you send my way; they do make my brain happy. I am really sorry it took me this long to write an answer to you but I hope the post is good enough for all the time I made you wait!

I hope you have an amazing week!

#jason todd #red hood #robin jason todd #batman #tati writes and is nervous about it #theories and headcanons #dc comics

77 notes · View notes

shirophantomvox · 3 years

Text

Random date night with Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo

Hello, anon! Ask and you shall receive! This prompt is very interesting and I will try to keep it in character as much as possible. To sum this up, Hisoka would take you to an ice cream shop, a carnival, or apple orchard while Illumi would rather go to an art or historical museum. Chrollo would persuade you to attend a book reading/author signing or go hiking. Depending on who you are and what your ideal date is, I’m sure you’d find them all fun. Going to a carnival or apple orchard is my go-to since I’ve barely been because they’re all in the suburbs. These headcanons are explained much more than the others. That is why Chrollo and Illumi seem to be short, but they’re not. Also, I can’t wait for Halloween because these headcanons are going to be amazing. I am extremely sorry if there are grammar errors! Taking classes on Zoom is frustrating and now my brain has to relearn everything that I lost in 3 months! Before we get started, I have a few announcements.

This post is more laid back than my other headcanons because I tried to keep it as canon as possible.

I want to thank you all for 65 followers! It means a lot! I’m happy to see that a lot of you enjoy my writing and like it enough to follow me! I have a challenge for you! When I reach 100 followers, I will host some type of writing event here...but I need ideas. I’ve seen some pages do specials where you can send an ask and pretend like you're talking to a character and I respond with what they’d say. SEND ME IDEAS! I WILL CREDIT YOU!

I will be stepping back a little more than before. I’ll still be logged in and re-blogging but as far as writing posts like this...it may only be once or twice a week. You see, I’m in college and I’m struggling financially and I have to work on scholarships. If you all send me an ask, be patient.

Voltron posts will only be created based on asks. I will not be writing posts about VLD if no one requests them. I do not receive any feedback from it anymore and no one seems to like them.

Now, let’s get into the post.

Let's start with Illumi first.

Headcanon 1: Illumi has a secret admiration for different types of art but he specifically enjoys pop art and surrealism. He has commented on how surrealism makes his brain twist and his feelings swirl as he tries to figure out the piece and what inspires it.

He prefers not to participate in tours as he likes to digest the art at his own pace.

Headcanon 2: In his spare time, he paints on a canvas. His art style consists of both surrealism and abstract art. For a person with a dark personality, his compositions always contain bright colors and abstract techniques that leave you wondering about his TRUE personality. He is truly a good man with a bright personality but after being abused for so long, those behaviors/personalities have been shoved so far down his throat that they may not come back up.

He has a bad habit of asking you what you thought about every single piece of art you passed. The conversations were great but this is a date after all. The playful conversation slowly turns into a lecture about art. Although you loved your bf’s dictionary-like brain it also drained your energy.

One of his favorite artists is Vincent Van Gough. Although he favors surrealism, Van Gogh’s art style was mind-blowing to him. So amazed that he buys several Van Gogh t-shirts from the gift shop.

His favorite piece created by Van Gough is “Starry Night”.

He notices that you are becoming bored and decides that it is time for MORE excitement, one that you are certain to enjoy.

“Where are we going,” you ask, pretending to be interested.

“Down to the basement. We are going to have a bite to eat.”

Since Illumi rarely smiled, when he did smile it drove you wild. The anticipation of what his next move was going to be is what drove that wildness. Being a bounty hunter was thrilling already but dating a smart, badass assassin was totally out of your league but it worked out.

Headcanon 3: Illumi’s idea of being romantic is dramatically different from yours. He believes just spending time with you on the couch was enough. He is correct; but if you have the time and funds, your time together should be a little spontaneous. You insisted on dates outside of the house because his family will not stay out of your business.

“Illumi, I am too hungry for more trivia.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. So am I. That is why I’ve decided to take you to a wine and cheese party.”

Huh? Wine and Cheese at 3PM? That’s ok. When was there a time limit on when you can drink alcohol?

Illumi has indirectly attended parties as such when he was 15 years old. He never drank, but he watched as his mother’s friends (surprisingly) talked about business and their children. This time, you weren’t going to talk about business for once. Instead, you two were going to actually talk about what couples discuss.

Headcanon 4: When introduced to alcohol for the first time, Illumi immediately stated how he hated brown liquor. That includes Hennessy, Jack Daniels, etc. It makes him sick to his stomach. He prefers to drink Smirnoff mixed with fruity drinks like strawberry or pineapple.

He loves it when you make these drinks for him on a summer day.

Hence the title wine and cheese, you both go to a stand-up table, place your brochures down, and actually have a wonderful conversation not involving work or hunting.

Illumi smiled a few times, more than usual. Whenever he appears to be softer even around you, that is because he has mellowed out and doesn't have the overbearing weight of his family on his shoulders. You set him free.

Hisoka

According to a one-shot that another manga artist created, they expressed that Hisoka was found on the side of the road, was taken in by someone that worked at a local circus, and learned Nen in a matter of days. Hisoka’s clown look and having the skills of a magician proves that this has to be canon in some way.

Headcanon 1: Given this potential backstory, going to a carnival is his go-to every summer. He wants to take you to a circus but saves that for you as an engagement gift.

Everyone with a heart knows that whether or not you’re in a relationship or not the carnival is fun as hell! Expensive fried food, elephant ears, funnel cake, ICEE’s, rides, and stuffed animals are to die for!

Being at a carnival relaxes him so his bloodlust isn’t activated unless someone bumps into him and causes a scene.

Headcanon 2: PDA is something that Hisoka does well; he doesn’t overdo it but does it enough where people get the impression that you are a couple and aren’t “best friends”.

While completing a mission depending on how rough it may be, he insists that you tag along to see how he handles the situation. You’ve already seen his ruthlessness from Hunter’s exam but he insists.

His sense of pride gets the best of him sometimes. Sometimes his head is so big that it reminds you of a large birthday balloon.

Headcanon 3: ANYWAY, given his nature, he is very adventurous, dangerous, and courageous. If he wants to go on the Demon Drop, he’ll do it and you DO not have a choice in the matter. He’ll tease or guilt trip you into doing something that you would not like to do.

“Well, you wouldn’t want me to cling on to someone else, would you?”

“No. Of course not,” you reply.

“Let’s go then, scaredy-cat.”

As a hunter, you’ve seen worse. Why are you so afraid to go on a ride?

Headcanon 4: At apple orchards, cornfield mazes are one of his favorites. You cannot for the life of you figure out how to get out but he can. He grabs a scarecrow and scares you from behind. That annoys you but is nothing compared to later on that night.

Oh. My. God. It’s haunted house time!

“Hisoka, I’m not going in!”

“Why not? I’ll protect you.”

“Because they’re monsters and I already have to deal with one.”

It took him a second to catch on that you were talking about him.

“That’s going to bite you in the butt, kitten.”

Headcanon 5: Like Killua, Hisoka has a sweet tooth. Don’t allow his buff appearance to fool you!

He LOVES caramel apples, elephant ears, funnel cake, freshly squeezed lemonade, fudge, and cotton candy. How can this man manage to stay in shape? The world may never know.

Headcanon 6: He isn’t one to play by other people’s rules but he sets his own rules with your relationship that you both must obey. One of those rules says that neither of you can be on your phones while together.

Headcanon 7: Hisoka insists that you both wear either matching pants or matching shirts to avoid unnecessary flirtation.

He isn’t jealous but on “us time”, he doesn’t want to lose a single second.

Headcanon 8: Hisoka only jumps in when necessary. Given that you’ve passed the hunter’s exam and work as a bodyguard, he knows you can handle your business. If the person can’t take a hint, then he steps in. They almost back up immediately considering Hisoka is towering over them.

When the moon shines, you both go to the car and off to sleep in your comfy king-sized bed.

Chrollo

We all know that Chrollo loves to read! What does he specifically like to read? What Genre? Does he like to read alone or with other people?

Although Chrollo is a thief and must be hidden in the shadows, the authorities have called off the search for him for at least 3 years. Slowly but surely, he begins to find himself in the outside world again.

Chrollo once discussed a book with the Phantom Troupe when they were being transported to another place for a mission. He read “Tears of a Tiger” by Sharon M. Draper.

The reading sessions are opened with an affirmation and a reason to be thankful to be alive. He says he is thankful for the troupe, glances at you, and smiles. No one catches on to that sly face except for Phinks.

Headcanon 1: Chrollo is very silent and shy to an extent. He only associates with people he knows and trusts. You are the social butterfly at this moment.

Chrollo tags along behind you like a shy child, holding your hand while you stick out your free hand to greet everyone.

Today, the book club was going to read “Divergent”.

Headcanon 2: Although he loves to read, he hates it when others read out loud. Most people are drably read and it annoys him. After a while, he takes over. Chrollo was tense the first 30 minutes of the meeting because two cops were there but neither of them noticed it was him.

Headcanon 3: Chrollo often acts the part of the character that he is reading in the book. His tone, attitude, and emphasis on certain words keep the group engaged. He is complimented on his acting!

“Good Job, honey,” you whisper.

He responds by tightly squeezing your hand.

His tone was so impressive that the host insisted that he read for the entire night. He was ok with that because in between reads he was often distracted by a lovely pair of jeans and shoes you had on. You were into writing, so hearing others read and act out the characters helped.

Headcanon 4: In some settings, Chrollo is very braggadocious. He insisted that the group read one of your stories so you could be provided with feedback.

“We’d be delighted to view your story, y/n!”

“It will be fun!”

The book club wasn’t a stereotypical club that only consisted of soccer moms but instead consisted of men and women who were involved with a business, law enforcement, health, etc. This was an open space for everyone to relax and forget about their demanding jobs.

After the meeting, the group went to dinner at a nearby pizzeria. You all enjoyed large pizzas, beer, salads, and dessert. How could your stomach (or anyone’s stomach) hold that much?

Chrollo laughed so much that it made you question if he was your actual boyfriend or not. He even engaged in conversations with the two off-duty cops! For once, you helped Chrollo experience the greater things in life; true love, friendship, and happiness.

“Thank you,” he whispered and slyly placed a kiss on your hand. “For everything.”

139 notes · View notes

commonwealthoccurences · 3 years

Text

If It's A War You Want

Request: Idea: Sole at the end of Blind Betrayal threatening "You lay one hand on Danse, and you start a war with me!" Can't trust Bethany Esda to write a proper conclusion for my boy Danse, so I trust u cuz ur writing slaps.

Word Count: 2,2027

Warnings: Threats, canon typical violence mentions

It was never supposed to turn out like this.

Sole hadn’t exactly come to love the Brotherhood’s ideology, specifically surrounding their opinions on synths, but it was a means to an end. It was messy, and at times downright infuriating. But Sole never intended to go face to face with them; the priority was the Institute. Once they were out of the picture, Sole intended to enjoy what was considered retirement in the Wasteland, and take up the role of a simple farmer.

Everything shifted once Elder Maxson told them about Danse and then ordered them to kill him. They couldn’t even think to react, to lash out in astonishment or in disgust. They were whisked away and before they knew it, they were being told his location by Scribe Haylen, and off they went. On an assassination mission for one of the people they cared about most in the Wasteland.

Of course, that was never going to happen. The walk to his location left them a lot of time to think. To come up with a plan, specifically. First, they wanted to hear his side of the story. It didn’t matter whether or not he was a synth, but they couldn’t imagine what he was going through, the stress, the betrayal, the possible resentment. Then, they would get him out. Wherever he wanted to go, they would get him there safely.

There would always be a place for him in Sanctuary. If it appealed, the Railroad could do what they did best, though they doubted he would want to lose what little he had left of his identity. Whatever Danse needed, they were there.

Before long, they were shooting down the turrets outside of the bunker Scribe Haylen said they would find him in, and they crept in, gun held in a tight grip by their side. Sole wasn’t sure what state of mind he’d be in. Whether or not he’d be defensive, whether or not he expected an enemy instead of a friend. He was smart. Maybe he expected Elder Maxson to test them the way he was, to send them after him to prove the loyalty Danse knew had wavered the very first day they stepped on the Prydwen.

There was water dripping from the ceiling, a leak of some sort made obvious from the heavy rains. The incessant dripping grew more and more irritating as Sole took careful steps through the damp hallways, jaw clenched, boots barely making a sound. It was a break in the structure of the wall that opened up to the end of their journey. Carefully, they straightened up, and stepped through the crumbled wall. “Danse?” Sole asked, cautious. They raised their hands on either side of their head in an attempt to appear non threatening.

But when Danse turned around, it was apparent he wasn’t going to make any attempt to defend himself. His gun was across the room, bullets scattered on the floor, magazine a few feet away. “Danse?” They repeated, tone softer, as they holstered their weapon.

“If you’re here to kill me, get it over with. Please.”

“Danse, I’m not here to kill you.”

He laughed, but there was no humor to his tone. “You should be. There’s no way you made it here without Maxson finding out, and if you’re disobeying direct orders….”

“I don’t give a damn about his orders, Danse. You know that.”

Danse scoffed. Yeah, he knew that. They had never been great at taking orders from anyone in the Brotherhood, until he asked them himself. It was obvious where their loyalties lied, and maybe he was selfish, but he had been okay with that. Now? Now, their misguided trust was only going to put them in danger. He knew that if they didn’t take back his holotags, they would be the next to fall. It was the way the Brotherhood worked. He had been a cog in their machine, after all; he knew better than anyone.

He turned away. It was nearly unbearable to look at them, at the hope they had represented for him in the year that they had been around, and the fact that they were looking at him pleadingly, a silent begging for him to go with them, and directly result in their death. “Get it over with, Soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier. Danse. You know I was never one of their soldiers. Don’t make this decision for me, please. It’s hard enough.”

Maybe if he begged them, they would go through with it, and they’d be safe. Of course, Danse didn’t want to die, if the loss of his life even counted as death, considering what had been discovered. But between the options of him living just a moment longer with the hope that he could return to some semblance of normal only for both of them to die, or for him to die for Sole to live, Danse would not hesitate in choosing them every time.

The drip hadn’t gone away. It drove at Sole’s patience as they stood there in silence, waiting for Danse to come to his senses. Or maybe it was them who needed sense, the sense to just move, to grab Danse and drag him away where no one could hurt him again. They nearly fully considered it when he spoke. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

They wanted to laugh, but instead, sucked in a deep breath and tapped their fingers against their thigh. “Have you met me?”

Danse nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He turned and looked at them. “It was a blessing in disguise. More than I knew, in the beginning.”

They found themself clenching their jaw tighter in an attempt to suppress the urge to cry. “Danse, let’s go. We can go back to Sanctuary and figure this all out. You don’t have to stay here and be alone in this miserable ass bunker.”

“Are you sure?”

“Danse, please. Let’s go home.”

It would be a long process, of course. To get him settled in Sanctuary, into a civilian lifestyle, without all the heavy-duty armor and the rigid structure to keep him firmly in place. But he would figure it out, Sole knew; he was much more resilient than he’d ever given himself credit for. They held out their hand and placed it on his shoulder when he stepped forward.

They guided him over to his weapon and loaded it for him before placing it firmly in his hands. “You still need to defend yourself.” The double-meaning of their words hung in the air between them as Danse stared them down. He nodded choppily.

The walk out of the bunker seemed much shorter than the trip in, and to Sole’s relief, they put distance between them and the dripping leak faster than they expected. As soon as they were relieved from one pressure, the next appeared in front of them. Through the thick rain, they could see the shadow of a familiar figure, one dressed in an oversized coat that they had thought many times would go for a high price at Myrna’s. “We don’t have to do this, Maxson.” They had to raise their voice to be heard over the pounding rain.

“You had orders, Soldier. Explain yourself, or I end this now.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. And I’m not your soldier.”

Sole could feel the rage radiating off Maxson. The vastness of his ego must’ve taken a dent from being so blatantly disrespected. “Sole, he’s right.” Danse piped up from over their shoulder, not loud enough to be heard by the leader of the Brotherhood, but clearly heard by Sole. They shook their head and raised a hand, clearly signalling him to be quiet. “See, Maxson. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I didn’t come out here blind. I knew you were testing me.”

They took a step forward, despite the fact that they felt adrenaline and anxiety thrumming in their chest. God knows the rain wasn’t helping, with the way they had to squint to be sure they had an eye on Maxson’s weapon. “I didn’t leave straight away. I have help, Elder, and I don’t take risks without insurance. I’m sure once you return to the Prydwen, after being unsuccessful in locating both Danse and I, that you’ll find many hidden explosive charges located throughout your beloved airship.”

Danse’s sharp intake of breath was barely audible, and they hoped he didn’t make his surprise too obvious. Of course, they were lying through their teeth; they hadn’t had time to even think before they were being ushered out of the Prydwen on their mission. But Maxson didn’t know that. He had simply sat back in his chair and expected them to clean up a mess that didn’t even exist.

“You’re bluffing.” Maxson called back.

“Do you really want to find out? You lay a single hand on Danse, and you’ll start a war with me. With me and the Minutemen, and while you may have protocols and guidelines, know that I will stop at nothing if something happens to someone I care for.”

Silence. If there was anything Maxson cared about more than being respected, it was the Brotherhood. If what they had said was true, they could turn the entire Eastern branch of the Brotherhood into gory, scrap metal ridden confetti and then follow up with their own, albeit small, army if there were any survivors. They shifted their grip on their weapon and raised their chin; this was the moment of truth. Would they get away with their companion in a nerve wracking scrape, or would they die for their loyalties?

Their heart thudded, even when Maxson lowered his weapon and took a half step backwards. The pressure was off, ever so slightly. “Go. You can return to wherever you came from, but if either of you are seen again-”

Maxson didn’t have to finish. The pair knew exactly how little they had as an advantage, and they were lucky to get as far as they did. Sole managed to not burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and instead gave him a sharp nod before their hand returned to Danse’s shoulder, and they began their departure to Sanctuary.

The first half of their journey was silent. Each was lost in their own thoughts about the situation, about what their futures may look like now that Sole had threatened war against one of the more powerful Commonwealth presences. Danse’s footsteps faltered momentarily just as they made it to Quincy. “Were you- did you actually have the means to blow up the Prydwen?”

Sole, overwhelmed with the confrontation of what they had said, burst out laughing. “God, no, Danse! But I had to think of something. If I didn’t have any leverage we would’ve ended up as ghoul feed.”

Danse frowned. “I told you you should’ve-”

“I know what you said, and it was the worst idea you’ve ever had. Try not to top it in the future, would you?”

The humor fell flat, Danse’s expression barely illuminated by the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon. “Look, Danse. I made my choice, there’s no going back, and even if there was, I wouldn’t change my mind. Even if I couldn’t blow up the Prydwen at that moment, I was serious. I would’ve started a war that rivaled the Great War. I still will, if he sends anyone after you.”

“Sole, you can’t possibly mean that.”

Whatever semblance of humor fell from their demeanor. They closed the gap between them and Danse and looked him in the eye. “I know that the Brotherhood may have made you feel otherwise, but you have people that will fight for you, Danse. You have me, and you have the Railroad and Sanctuary now. And it might be hard to believe, but I’ll spend every day proving it to you. Do you understand?”

Danse swallowed. The nod he gave them was barely visible. Stunned. They gave him a weak smile and brushed a strand of his hair away from his eyes. “Let’s go home, Danse.”

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #Paladin Danse #Imagine #Oneshot #Angst #Fluff #Angst with a happy ending #Canon divergence #other tags im probably forgetting

78 notes · View notes

maggies-scribblings · 3 years

Text

Yarning For Her

Adrien is smitten with the girl who's always been there, in the row behind him. But when his plans to ask Marinette out unravel, a secret throws him for a loop…

Written for the Miraculous Writer's Guild April Event 2021: Followers sent five emojis as prompts to the @mlwritersguild Tumblr for the writers to pick one to write for. I chose the emojis sent by @ladycat1: ✨ 😊 👀 👩🏻 🧵

Canon compliant up to Season 4, Episode 4: M. Pigeon 72.

👩🏻

It was finally happening. The event everyone was waiting for… well, everyone except the main protagonist of said event.

Marinette could feel it, though she could hardly believe it. She noticed Adrien looking at her with more intensity, when he thought she wasn’t looking. How he had trouble finding the right words when talking to her. All the tiny gestures of attention, like offering to help with a difficult subject or a complex art project, or praising her outfit every day, even if she’d worn it several times before.

Nino could tell, too: questions about Marinette and her favourite colour, food, flower, or whatever else were whispered in his right ear all day.

Actually, the whole class noticed Adrien’s marked change in behaviour. His cheerful hellos were now stuttered in Marinette’s general direction. His head hid on his shoulders whenever Marinette sighed or yawned, as if his neck couldn’t handle her fresh breaths. Even his athletic skills were now replaced with an unexplained jerkiness. The fact that the weather was warmer and the girls’ gym suits gave way to short shorts and strappy tops might have had something to do with it.

In short, Adrien fell in love with Marinette. Hard.

👀

When it started, Adrien couldn’t exactly tell. Ever since that first day of school, Marinette had held a special space in his heart (most of which had been stolen by Ladybug the previous day). She was one of his first and dearest friends.

But now… after getting to know Marinette, her loving and kind nature, after seeing her helping others without asking for anything back, after finally noticing how pretty she was… he wasn’t so sure.

That day at the pool was definitely a turning point.

First there was that unplanned double dive. During those milliseconds when they were falling, Adrien’s thought process went something like this:

Danger!—Why is Marinette here?—Protect!—Wow, she looks so cute in that swimsuit!

As they hit the water, their arms instinctively reached out to the other as they sank, swirling back up to the surface in a soft embrace — just like that night in New York, when they had danced floating in the air, under the full moon.

And when they were leaving the pool, Adrien was so happy and surprised to see she still had the umbrella he’d given her way back then! Sweet as always, she offered to give it back to him, even though it was raining and she had to walk home.

She was standing next to him (she linked her arm in his!) when that pesky umbrella decided to close on them, and they were pulled even closer for a few seconds. Very close. He could smell the chlorine in her hair mixed with the scent of sweets that always surrounded her. He thought he felt her heart beating faster and faster. Maybe it wasn’t. His heart certainly was. He could feel her warm breath through his shirt, and it drove him a little crazy.

When they said goodbye that day, he could hardly take his eyes off her. He even bumped his head on the car door frame. Ladies and gentlemen, here’s the charming, elegant model Adrien Agreste, unable to enter a car (come to think of it, he seemed to have a bit of a problem with doors whenever Marinette was around).

✨

The few weeks that went by did nothing to sort out Adrien’s feelings about the two black-haired girls in his life. His days were mortifying, his nights restless. On one such night, Adrien tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn’t come. The full moon and bright stars shining through the window frames painted his room with grid patterns, a constant reminder of his confined life.

Adding to that, his mind was racing with memories of his (now frequent) clumsiness and embarrassment at school. He recalled the fumble of the day: going into the classroom while trying to look cool, he managed to snag his bag strap on the door handle, causing him to jerk back and hit the ground on his butt in front of the whole class.

Adrien groaned and turned again. Worst thing was, he had no idea how she felt for him. She kept sending mixed signals. Her behaviour towards him wasn’t as weird as it had been, but that didn’t mean a lot. He’d even asked her a couple of times. He remembered the time they visited the wax museum, when she said she didn’t like him like that.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Plagg yawned from his side of the pillow, annoyed by his bearer’s restlessness. “Who is it this time? Spots or bakery girl?”

Adrien didn’t bite, going back into his musings instead.

His mind turned to Ladybug… These days, Spots occupied a much smaller part of his thoughts. He still got the occasional butterflies in his stomach when he saw her, or when she praised him and his humour. She would always be his first love, and not an easy girl to forget… but she was right, of course — she was always right — as long as they had enemies, they couldn’t reveal their identities, much less deepen their relationship. Back when Bunnyx first showed up, they found out that there would be a new Hawkmoth and countless akumas in the future, and who knew when that would end?

Plagg was still grumbling about sleep and cheese. Adrien playfully flicked his kwami’s ear.

“Shut up, Plagg! I’m trying to sleep!”

“Very unsuccessfully, I might say,” Plagg flew out of his reach. “You sighed four-hundred and fifty-eight times in the last hour.”

“Come on… can’t you see I’m in turmoil here?” Adrien turned his back to the kwami. It was no use arguing with a deity, no matter how minuscule.

“Four-hundred and fifty-ni—” Plagg’s teasing was interrupted by a pillow hitting him.

😊

This wouldn’t do. Adrien couldn’t stand his own indecisiveness any more. He decided to ask Marinette out, that very day. After a reviving shower, he got dressed and looked in the mirror. The dark circles around his eyes were evident, but he hated wearing concealer to school. He might as well add a couple of details to his usual get-up: a pair of Gabriel’s new collection sunglasses and his favourite blue scarf.

He arrived at school early, and while most of the class was either chatting in the courtyard or going into the classroom, Marinette was nowhere to be seen. Adrien went into the locker room, and lurked behind the last row of lockers while students got in, got their things and left.

Finally, the hurricane that was late-for-class-Marinette thundered in, scolding herself for oversleeping as she got her books for the morning. When she closed the door, there was Adrien, leaning against the cabinets with his best Chat Noir smirk as he looked over the rim of his sunglasses and greeted her.

“Good morn—”

He didn’t have time to finish his line, as a very startled Marinette squeaked and grabbed his free arm to spin him around and pin him to the lockers with an elbow to his throat.

It took a few moments for Adrien realise exactly what had happened, before she released her hold.

“I’m sorry, I… panicked,” Marinette said, as she stepped back and continued to gesticulate wildly and mumble more awkward apologies.

Still frozen in place, Adrien managed to adjusted his crooked sunglasses.

“Marin—” he had to clear his throat. “No, I— It’s o-ow!”

Adrien tried and failed to step forward, as he heard a ripping sound — his scarf was caught in Marinette’s locker, and the momentum slammed him back into the metal doors with a loud bang.

The proverbial stars that blurred his vision cleared up to show Marinette very close to him, fumbling with the lock to release the scarf.

“Sorry, so sorry, I’m such a klutz!”

“It’s okay, no harm do—”

Adrien stopped talking when he saw that the scarf had a large rip, disappointment obvious upon his face.

“Oh no!” Marinette covered her mouth as she saw the damage. “Your scarf! I ruined it!”

At this point, Adrien would usually smile and say something like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘no worries’, but he couldn’t lie: he really loved that scarf. It was his favourite colour, warm and cosy, yet light enough to wear on a spring day, and a rare thoughtful gift from his father. He pouted a little as his fingers traced the tear.

“I can fix it!”

He lifted his eyes to Marinette as she got on her tiptoes to unwind the scarf from his neck.

“I can make it look as good as new. I know you’re worried, after all it’s your dad’s birthday gift,” she rambled as she delicately folded it, “but I have leftover yarn— I mean, I think I have the same colour, and it’s a simple pattern.”

There was something odd about the way she worded that, but Adrien dismissed it. He must have made a weird face, because now she had a concerned expression.

“I mean, if you trust me with it… I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t after I destroyed it. ”

“No—I mean, don’t be silly, it was an accident… I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you like that!” He managed a relieved little smile. “Still, my father might be upset if he saw I ripped it. Are you sure you can fix it?”

Marinette’s eyes averted his for a moment, as she returned the folded up scarf.

“I’ll do my best! I’m not a pro like your father, but I’m sure I can make it as good as new in no time at all!”

They agreed to go to Marinette’s place after school so that she could start working on it right away, then ran off to class as the second bell rang.

Not exactly the way I planned it, Adrien thought as he scrambled onto his seat, but I guess it worked!

🧵

Adrien reclined in the chaise-longue and looked around Marinette’s bedroom. It was the total opposite of his, huge and aseptic and cold. On the contrary, these walls had warm colours and pictures everywhere, and it smelled amazing, fruity shampoo mixed with glue and ink from her many design projects, mixed with sweets from the bakery, and everything about it was so welcoming and cosy and so… Marinette.

“Yes!” Her delighted voice interrupted his reveries. “I knew I still had it!”

Adrien chuckled as he saw Marinette triumphantly holding a ball of light blue yarn, then get several needles from her yarn basket and sit at her sewing station to start working. He switched seats to her desk chair and rolled close to her.

“Can I help?”

“Sure! Let me just…”

Marinette picked up a long, thin knitting needle and started to thread it on the scarf, just above the tear. She was so concentrated and her movements so careful and precise, she might as well be defusing a bomb. Adrien noticed her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth and wondered what her kisses would taste like.

“There. I have the brakes on, now let’s get going.”

Marinette found the end stitch at the corner of the scarf and cut it. Giving Adrien the end of the yarn, she continued.

“Hold this. Make a ball while I unravel it.”

“Huh? Un-what?” Much as Adrien trusted her skills, he panicked. “Won’t you make it worse?”

“No, because I’m holding the knitting with this,” she pointed at the longer needle she had threaded through the scarf.

Marinette turned her chair, so they were sitting face to face, knees almost touching, and started to quickly unravel the bottom part of the scarf, while he rolled up the thread in a ball, both enjoying the comfortable silence. He noticed a small piece of fabric falling from one of the edges and bent down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” Adrien thought out loud while examining it.

As soon as Marinette lifted her eyes from her work and saw what he was holding, her eyes went wide and her cheeks red.

“Oh, it’s nothing—” she tried unsuccessfully to snatch the fabric from his hand. “Probably just the washing inst—”

It was not an ordinary washing instructions tag. It was tiny and had been woven into the knitting, so discreetly he’d never noticed it before. He turned the fabric over to see a recognisable signature.

Marinette

“Wait— you made this?” Adrien picked up the other end of the scarf from her lap and examined like he’d never seen it before. “Wha—? How? D-did my father buy it off your website?”

So that’s why she was so confident about fixing it. He searched Marinette’s face for an explanation, but she just shook her head and kept looking down, unravelling the loops one by one.

“No— of course not— your site wasn't set up back then, we only took those photos later…”

Adrien thought back to the time Nathalie handed him the present, neatly packed in a box with a ribbon. He’d never seen that kind of care in his father’s presents, just standard gift bags with expensive pens, straight from a corporate catalogue. His train of thought was broken by a couple of tears falling on his hands.

“Marinette…” he murmured, lifting her chin to look into her misty eyes. “Did you make this for me?”

She nodded with a tiny smile. He moved his hand from her chin to cup her cheek, wiping her tears with his thumb.

“Was this supposed to be your present for me?” Another nod. “How did this mess happen then?”

“I…” Marinette had to clear her throat and finally looked at him. Something in her eyes changed from avoidance to determination. “I wanted to give it to you personally, but I couldn’t gather the nerve… then one thing led to another, and I left it in your house, and I even signed it, but…” she shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just… couldn’t. You were so happy with the present from your dad. I couldn’t ruin it for you.”

Adrien made a mental note to find out exactly what had happened, then set all his negative feelings aside. His heart was too full of love to think about anything other than the girl in front of him.

“Oh, Marinette…” he softly chided as he hugged her. How could this girl be so selfless, on top of everything else? She cared for him, really cared for him, even back then. “I wish you’d told me.”

He released the hug and pulled her closer, into his lap. Marinette set the scarf on the sewing table and put her arms around his neck. Her tears were gone and a hint of a smile played on her lips.

“That way,” Adrien caressed her nose with his, “I would have thanked you properly.”

“Oh yeah?” Marinette breathed, her lips very close to his. “You can thank me now.”

They closed the distance between them, their lips melding into a sweet kiss, then another, and then a few more. Adrien’s heart was beating so fast he could hardly bear it. Then he remembered he should probably breathe at some point.

“Wow.”

“If that’s the way you thank a person for a present, I’ll start giving them more often,” Marinette joked.

“Not anyone.” He pecked her lips. “Only you.”

They kissed again, this time more passionately. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, her forehead, her neck, then back up to her lips…

The scarf was left forgotten on the sewing table. It could wait a few more hours before repairing.

Fin

Thanks to @hari-writes and @deinde-prandium for the beta read! ❤️

Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. English is not my first language and I tend to use UK English. If you catch any inconsistencies, please let me know.

My AO3. My Twitter. My Instagram.

140 notes · View notes

randomingoftherandomness · 3 years

Note

Hi! I got a prompt! You know the cliche trope of a married couple fighting and the wife is like “I’m going back to my parents’ house!” Well, maybe wenzhou had a petty fight, and wkx actually uses that line, but he obv has no parents left, so he ran away to yby’s place. Now zzs not only has to coax his husband home, he also has to do it in front of yby, who’s like half freaking tired of the drama, and half get weirdly into it and yakes wkx’s side, making the task even more difficult. Can be modern AU or post canon, up to you 🤣🤣

Hi Nani, sorry this is a bit late hehe 🥰

I’m opting for modern!au for this coz I want to try something new haha

—

The tap on his car window startles him out of his daze and he winds down just in time to have Ah Xiang poking her head into the warm interior, bringing with her a rush of cool spring morning air.

“You fucked up really bad this time, huh?”

“Language,” Zishu chides on instinct but doesn’t pursue the matter when their foster daughter/little sister rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Are you going in or not? If you are, you should do it later coz the Old Man is still in there. If you’re not, then can I bum a ride with you to school?”

“Did you miss the bus again?” Zishu scoffs, reaching over to the passenger seat and passing over three packed lunches that were definitely bought; one for Ah Xiang, one for Chengling who was staying at his godfather Shen Shen’s for the week (thank the gods), and one for Cao Weining who seems to have ingratiated his way into their little family.

She takes it wordlessly and packs it into her bag. Sticking her tongue out at him, she shoulders the straps of her school bag, scuffing her shoe on the ground. Watching her, Zishu kills the engine of the car and lifts up the bouquet of peonies he’d bought last night and drove up and down the block until he decided against coming over to the Ye household at that hour.

“How mad?”

“I’d say you’ll probably have to grovel.”

Zishu grins, a bubble of amusement enveloping his chest with warmth. Exiting the car, he reaches over to pat her on her head and arranges the collar of her school uniform. “I can do that.”

She frowns. “Grovel and beg and kiss his ass and swear you won’t make him angry anymore?”

“Go to school, kid, and text me if you guys need a ride home today. I’ll bring you guys for some ice-cream,” Zishu says, nudging her along. She huffs, pausing mid turn to suddenly throw her arms around him and hugging tightly.

“I don’t like it when you guys fight.”

“I know. I don’t like it when we fight either.”

—

Mr Rong is the one who opens the door with a smile. “They’re at the patio,” He whispers. Gathering his coat and his briefcase, he winks conspiratorially as he leaves for work. “Good luck, Zishu!”

“Thanks,” He replies with a confidence he doesn’t quite feel.

Senior Ye and Mr Rong aren’t that much older than Zishu but somehow they’ve had a whole history between them that nonetheless had culminated in a shotgun wedding in Saipan five years ago that only Zishu, Lao Wen and Rong Xuan, Mr Rong’s only son from a previous marriage, were invited to. Senior Ye had a sharp tongue and a frosty wit, while Mr Rong was warm and personable. They’re the true definition of the saying ‘opposite attracts’.

Whilst Senior Ye, the closest thing Zishu had to an older brother in this world, hadn’t made any secrets of his disapproval of his and Lao Wen’s relationship, in recent years the man seems to have mellowed out immensely. Now, his is the house Lao Wen runs to when they have a fight.

They’re at the patio as Mr Rong had said, sitting at the table with the breakfast things all spread out mid meal. His Lao Wen looks radiant in the sunlight, dressed in a soft jumper that was probably Zishu’s at one point, resolutely not looking over when he approaches. Senior Ye gives him a once over and sighs, put-upon, at the sight of the flowers.

Clearing his throat, he ignores the man and goes to a crouch in front of Lao Wen, setting the bouquet on the table beside them. Trying for a smile, Zishu quietly says, “Hey.”

Cool dark eyes flicker to him and narrow dangerously. Before his husband can say anything, Senior Ye takes a quick jibe in. “Hey. That’s all you can do? Hey?”

“Senior Ye...”

“It’s okay,” Lao Wen says, tilting his head towards Senior Ye with a placating smile. “Maybe we could have a minute?”

“Ugh, fine.” He rolls his eyes, voice dripping with utter disdain as he stalks back into homely interior of his home. “I’m keeping an eye on you two!”

“I thought he didn’t like you very much,” Zishu cannot help but to say.

At this, Lao Wen merely shrugs and tucks his hands under his sleeves. “Have you had breakfast?” He asks, hands already moving to butter the bread and spread the jam. It settles something unnerved in Zishu to see him do this for him and it is enough to unlatch the words, “I am sorry, Lao Wen. Please come home.”

The hand on the butter knife pauses mid stroke. “I...” Lao Wen licks his lips. Setting the knife down with a clatter, Lao Wen reaches out for his hand. They tangle their fingers together, sharing a soft, slow smile.

“I’m sorry too. I couldn’t sleep last night without you.”

Zishu feels the words unspool his heart. He lifts Lao Wen’s hand to his lips, pressing kisses to the ridges and dips of his knuckles. “What were we fighting about again?” He asks around a irrepressible smile.

“Can’t remember. Probably something stupid,” Lao Wen laughs, curling into him and drawing him into a kiss. “I love you. Let’s go home.”

“I love you, too. Let’s go home.”

—

“How long did it take this time?”

Ye Baiyi rolls his eyes, throwing the ingredients into the bowl before he leans back into the warmth and solid strength of his husband, tilting his head back to kiss at a jaw.

“Not long. I gave them the leftovers from last night to take home for lunch after I made them sit through a lecture. That brat said he wants to cook dinner for us this weekend.”

His husband chuckles, the sound reverberating right to his bones. “You’re such a softie.”

“Mm.”

#word of honor #wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #ye baiyi #gab writes stuff #naniya27

79 notes · View notes

curioussubjects · 3 years

Text

“Probably think you’re overcompensating:” Perception, Masculinity & Queer!Dean

So I’ve been wanting to write about my particular take on Dean, queerness, and masculinity because all the time I see takes, and I get into discussions, and I keep having to repeat myself. Not exactly an issue except peddling takes via hyperlink is much easier. This post is a bit of a journey, as anything I write tends to be, but the central thread here is fairly straightforward: emotional vulnerability. Most of my understanding of Dean circles around issues of emotional vulnerability and perception, which is not wholly unconnected to my reading of Cas and happiness -- that is, allowing yourself to be open and vulnerable, and accepting your worth is crucial to accurate perceptions of reality.

In the beginning, we had John Winchester: after Mary died, John “was just a shell.” He became entirely closed off and focused on one thing, and one thing only: finding YED and killing monsters. John actively suppressed his grief over Mary by immersing himself in hunting, a new found mission meant to avenge and protect. The change in John is so marked that in our encounters with younger John lead to his own disgust at the parenting Dean describes, without knowing it’s himself he is censoring. Furthermore, in the Winchester motto being “saving people, hunting things, the family business,” we can see into what drove John in his mission: his guilt in not being able to save Mary, hunting as an outlet for that guilt, the imposition of that mission onto his sons. When Mary died, John’s entire philosophy and modeling of how to be Father and Husband (and Man, really) rested on his ability to be a sword and shield. A protector, unflappable, steady, focused. Someone who should always put the mission first, with little to no distractions.

Dean, as eldest son and the natural second in command, inherited John’s mission and philosophy. While John was away, Dean was in charge of protecting the family (Sam), and was expected to that steady, unflappable protector. Someone who was in control of their vulnerability and never open to weakness. If John’s mission was to avenge Mary, Dean’s mission was to look out for Sam. Anything that caused Dean to deviate from that was a failure. It meant that Dean failed as A Father (and Husband mirror, not that he was a spouse proxy, but that John projected his own image onto Dean). Crucially, when we see Dean “fail” in the mission of looking out for Sam, they're due to Dean doing something for himself, or even doing something for Sam -- hence how he ended up at Sonny's for shoplifting. because apparently theft is wrong if it's not credit cards scams, thanks John. And in looking out for Sam, we find the first fault line in Dean being able to uphold John’s maxim of being invulnerable because to protecting Sam also meant, to Dean, to shield him from John’s abuse and expectations, it meant that Sam was nurtured, as best Dean could manage. Beyond protecting Sam, however, Dean would also inherit John’s mission should he die in the line of duty. And so Dean did. He was tasked to kill the YED and even Sam if Sam became a threat. Anything that would make Dean deviate from that single minded mission was to be purged. Or shoved so far down that the mission would not be affected.

In short, the baseline of duty Dean was operating on was: look out for Sam, look out for the Family, obey orders from the Father, carry out the Mission, avenge mom, kill monsters (noble and good, sure, but still immersed in the revenge mission). Whatever tool you use to carry on another day is acceptable, so long as it is ephemeral and utilitarian. If you need to drink, fuck, etc, in order to keep going so be it, but whatever you do must never impact the mission. College, relationships, picket fences, and dogs, are distractions. They are things that would necessarily take you from The Life. They can only ever be the rewards for completing the Mission. Paradise, if you will.

Emotional vulnerability, then, that which allows the world to thing touch you that deeply is a distraction. You have to be a shell. You fight, but you also fight because the hunter life is not for others. All in the hopes that one day the mission will be done, and there’s an end of the tunnel with peace and a normal life, which is a lie. Not a lie because hunting is antithetical to happiness, but a lie because the mode of operation created and imposed by John makes it impossible for one to ever reach happiness. Happiness needs a way in.

But what’s all this have to do with Dean being queer? Well, this has everything to do with how Dean experiences his queerness. A lot of the time I see people thinking of Dean as someone who suppresses, or, even worse, represses his sexuality when neither of those things are true (someone suppresses or represses their queerness doesn’t go around loving queer film, gushing over crushes, and making queer cultural references). Personally, I don’t think Dean represses as his go to coping mechanism (though he does repress, sometimes, like how John wasn’t a good father, actually). Dean is much more likely to suppress his feelings and his trauma: those are his to handle, and his to stow so he can Get the Job Done. But if Dean ever suppressed his bisexuality, which at some point he might have, I’d argue had much more to do unnecessary risks, than something like self-hatred.

Nevertheless, the issue when it comes to queerness, then, wouldn’t be Dean fucking men or being attracted to multiple genders. It wouldn’t wholly be an issue with masculinity either because the Masculine Values™ the Winchesters operate under a very specific to their situation, as I described above. It’s less about manly posturing, and more about being the perfect soldier (and, eventually, commanding officer). However, queerness brings with it queer & homophobia. As such, one’s sexuality could be leveraged as a weakness. It's something that can be exploited, if one allows it to hurt them. It’s also something that could draw attention to oneself, which is a bit dangerous for a hunter. So, for me, if John ever knew about Dean being bi (and with his neglect, he very well might not), his main problem would be with it being unnecessarily dangerous. Taking these issues into account, it makes sense to me that Dean would be uneasy with being perceived as queer because of it being a tactical disadvantage rather than him having an actual problem with being queer. So when we see posturing and overcompensation, when we see Dean lean particularly hard on the more overtly macho sides of his personality, it’s a mask. Incidentally, if Dean ever found himself in queer spaces he wouldn’t be so uneasy to the point of having to lean into the overcompensating mask -- which, of course, is influenced by cultural heteronormativity and all that mess.

Ultimately, Dean wants to control how he is perceived because it gives him the upper hand. He had to learn to be a chameleon to survive, and he had to develop a thick skin because to show weakness is to fail the mission, and weakness means that you die, or, worse, the one you are meant to protect dies. It’s no wonder that Dean’s character development had little to do with him accepting his queerness (which canon, refreshingly, presents as just a fact of who he is, no fuss), but learning to be emotionally vulnerable. To let love and happiness in. To be who he is completely, without fear, without guilt, without shame, and without self-doubt. That letting himself be happy isn’t a sign of weakness or leading to failure, that it isn’t a gateway for hurt. And none of that, none of it, is about some internalized hatred of his own queerness. Finally, Dean’s freedom and lesson is that the true steadfastness is self-actualization, and really, to quote Cas:

I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're “daddy's blunt instrument.” And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you see it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are.

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #john winchester's a+ parenting #spn meta #my writing #polol #dean is bi

239 notes · View notes

beskarberry · 3 years

Text

Silver and Steel

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 2 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.5k

Content warnings: ALOT. Descriptions of violence (a little spicier than canon) blood mention, near death experiences, hurt/COMFORT, fluff, smut exhaustion sex, top!reader.

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it but yeah PLEASE READ THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS!! It all works out ok in the end! Also good chunks of this was inspired by a particular filk song called Call the Navigator which I’ll link in the replies so the external link doesn’t ef up my post.

<-Previous Next->

"Med pack... junk....junk....spotchka?....is that all you've got?"

You were bent over a deep supply crate, your legs barely touching the ground while you dug through what you had hoped would be the food stock. There were several banged up tins of rations and a handful of miscellaneous junk, but nothing that looked real food. You were clean and dry after your shower, but the energy that had been spent in this very supply room just an hour or so earlier had to be replenished. "Where’s the rest of it?"

The silence coming from the cockpit was expected, but still frustrating. With a huff you grabbed two food tins and made your way through the old ship towards the ladder. At the top though a small antechamber you found your new comrade seated in the pilot chair, fussing with the buttons on the console. On either side and slightly behind his chair were two other passenger seats, though the one on his left was missing a good deal of padding. The cockpit was poorly lit save for the lighted console and the dusty starlight overhead. Though you were in the air, you could tell you were still on Tatooine. Hooray. Why are we still here? The great Dune Sea stretched out on all sides, sparsely dotted with sand people villages, but you couldn’t see any of the large space ports such as Mos Eisley or Mos Espa. In the ships’ darkness you couldn't tell what the lumpy thing was in the other chair, probably blankets or laundry. You went to toss it off the seat when a pair of huge black orbs peeped out from the heap of fabric.

"The fuck is THAT?!" You rocketed backwards, dropping the food tins in the process. The bug eyed creature made a soft cooing noise and lifted the rest of the blanket off itself, allowing two gigantic green ears to pop into view. It didn't look like a threat, in fact it looked kinda cute, but you knew it could still be dangerous. A pair of stubby three-fingered hands made grabby motions at you, the little creature giggling at your bewildered face. " Where'd you find this thing, is it some kind of pet?"

"He's not a pet." Finished fiddling with the console, Mando turned in his chair to readjust the blanket that had slumped off of the small beastie. It squealed happily and wiggled in its comfy cocoon before noticing the food tins that were still on the floor. He pointed the tiniest claw at them and chirped at you, demanding to be fed. "You'd better give him one of those before he gets mad."

It took you a moment to process what he said before scooping one of the tins off the floor, peeling back the lid and placing the dish in the seat next to the little thing. He greedily scooped the mystery mash into his tiny toothy mouth, gibbering between bites. You picked the remaining tin off the floor and leaned against the door frame, watching it happily chow down.

"If it's not a pet then what is it?"

"He's my..." the Mandalorian paused, fishing for the right words to say, "...he is my child."

That was not at all the answer you expected, if he had said emotional support gremlin you would have been less confused. The baby was still making a mess of his dinner, almost dropping his plate before Mando snatched it and set it carefully back in his lap. You had seen first hand that there was a human under all that metal plating, and your tired brain fizzled trying to make the connection between the two very different beings. Mando could tell by your puzzled face that he had some explaining to do.

He told you the tale of how he had been charged to bring the baby in as a high credit bounty, but after he used the reward to get new armor he went back and stole the child away from its captors. He talked about the Mandalorian concept of a 'foundling' and that he himself was one too. At some point you had popped your food tin open and started eating, though you were so captivated by his story that you couldn't remember doing so. When he'd finished you set your empty dish on the busted chair and gently held your hand out for the child to grab with one mush covered paw, who babbled excitedly at his new friend.

Behind you his parental guardian was rigid, ready to take you out if you made one wrong move against his precious cargo. Though he had been the one to steal you away and forgo freezing you in carbonite he still didn’t exactly trust you, your reputation as a hunter-killer was what had driven your bounty so high. He knew you were disarmed, but what else could you be capable of? However, you weren't paying mama-hen Mando any mind. Instead you let the baby play with your hand a bit before he returned to his food. You decided that the only place left to sit was on the floor. Squished into the tiny space between the passenger and pilot seats was cramped, but it gave you a fantastic view out the rounded transperisteel window into the vastness of the night sky.

“Your story sounds awful familiar.” You turned your attention to the metal clad man, watching him fidget with the steering controls. “You abandoned a guild reward for anothers wellbeing, like I did. Someone that didn’t deserve to be dragged back in cuffs. Is that why you picked up the puck on me? Some kind of kindred spirit something or other?”

“We’re nothing alike.” He was watching out the window, focused on flying the ship to unknown destinations, but he was bouncing the leg farthest away from you. So when the cogwheels turn in your head, the machine moves somewhere else. If you hadn’t experienced his human body first hand you could have easily convinced yourself he was a droid.

“Now that’s not true. You told the guild to get fucked because your moral compass was pointing the other way. I didn't just let that quarry go y'know? It was more than that. There was... there was someone she had to get back to. And the New Republic was just gonna lock her ass up and for what? It wasn't right." You remembered that Togruta woman, pointing a blaster at you with tears in her eyes and her belly swollen with a child that did not belong to the man she was being forced to marry. A few thousand credits weren’t worth another child being made an orphan, and you gave her your ship to escape in while you led hunters on a wild-bantha chase away from her. You knew it drove the guild insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. A tiny green foot poked itself out from under the blankets by your head, bringing you out of your reverie. On reflex you tucked it back into the safety of his blankies.

Though you thankfully didn’t remember much of your early childhood, you knew you had come from Corellia. You didn’t know if you had parents or siblings, but there had been many other young street urchins in your alley behind the shipyard, and all you had then were each other. You never planned on having any kids yourself, but they were still something to be protected. At all costs, if necessary. “I’m guessing this little dude is happy with that decision.”

Mando had begun to take the ship closer to the ground, it was almost totally dark outside but you could see on the radar there was a large mountainous formation up ahead. Carefully, he landed the beat up craft on a sturdy outcropping of rocks, kicking up whirlwinds of dust and sand. Far out over the sand you could see a collection of lumpy looking ruins that were slowly succumbing to the march of the dunes. You guessed this was where your quarry was hiding out.

The baby was starting to get sleepy, his huge eyes disappearing slowly as the weight of his eyelids became too much. His little head rolled forward, threatening to toss him off his seat. Your big mean bounty hunter heart couldn’t take it, so you scrambled to your feet and scooped the baby up in your arms, sitting down in his seat to get him situated in your lap. He fussed and squirmed a bit, but you had learned a no-fail trick from the Corellian ship builders that would often help to sneak orphaned children onto their ships and off that skughole of a planet towards a better life. Many years ago they had done the same for you.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

The songs you knew were often sang by whole crews of starship sailors, loud enough to shake their durasteel walls, but you dropped your voice low and soft to turn the star-shanty into a lullaby. The baby was watching you with glittering eyes, he had stopped his wiggling and curled up tightly against your chest.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We've stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by”

A tiny yawn betrayed his wondrous eyes, and he gave up and closed them shut, rubbing his little hands on his face. You lowered your voice to almost a whisper.

“I've seen a million beauties and I've known a million fears,

And life is what I've found between the laughter and the tears.

Still I will sail the last frontier through worlds both tame and wild,

And marvel at their strangeness with the wonder of a child”

Soft snores were your only applause, the baby having drifted off mid stanza. You hummed a few more lines of the song to be sure he was asleep. The cockpit was as dark as the surrounding sky, but the glint of silver caught your attention. Starlight reflected off the beskar plates in a way that made the black of his visor seem darker than the heart of a collapsed star, and just as deadly. The Mandalorian was watching you intently, completely motionless.

The precious moment with the baby had made you very forgetful of the dangerous situation you were actually in. You had been captured, you were this man’s prisoner and yet here you were all cozy in the chair with his adopted son in your lap. You glared back at him, matching his fierce gaze when the little green bundle moved to get more comfortable, one tiny hand catching claws in the top you were wearing; a tunic that did not belong to you.

“Here, you take him then.” Your voice was hushed so as not to wake the child, and you raised him up gently to try and unhook him from your shirt. Immediately there were two gloved hands coming to lift the baby off of your lap. He was a monolith of leather and metal, but the way he pulled his son in close was so gentle that all the ferocity of his profession dissipated like mist. Mando carefully tucked the blanket under the sleeping little baby and wrapped him up tight before slowly turning away from you and the flight deck to head down the ladder in total silence, leaving you alone in the dark.

You watched him go, the top of his shiny silver head disappearing into the floor. Without the sounds of life in the cockpit the quiet of the night weighed heavy on your ears. He still hadn’t told you why he had kept you out of the carbonite, all you had done was let him use you as his personal play-thing... and maybe murder off some of his bounty hunting competition, but that wasn’t much to go off of. You had done worse for much less. Put your skills to better use, that’s what he had said. Absently you toyed with the end of your sleeve, no, not your sleeve. His sleeve.

That was another thing, what reason did he have to show you hospitality when his first interaction with you had been so violent? Binding you and marching your ass through the desert after he had fucking shot you. Your escape plan had almost worked, ha! All you would’ve had to do is tire him out and run but that had backfired entirely. The apex of your thighs still thrummed with sensation, warm and blissful. Though you’d had lovers in the past you usually didn’t still feel them so deeply afterwards. The smell of the fresher soap still clung to your body and clothes. Clutching at the collar of your sweater you pulled it to your face and breathed deep, letting the heady scent of it fill your lungs.

“Let’s go. We have work to do.” The modulated voice coming from the ladder startled you from your guilty indulgence and sprang you to your feet, but the source of the voice was already back down the ladder. You sheepishly followed suit.

“You plan on telling me what we’re up to exactly?” Down below the Mandalorian was loading himself with ammunition, each and every slot on his many bandoliers was packed to the brim with charges. His pulse rifle was slung over one shoulder, clanking up against a new piece of equipment you hadn’t seen before. Some kind of jet pack maybe.

“I have two bounties to catch on Tatooine. One of them conveniently fell into a sarlacc pit. The other one's hiding out down there." A bounty fob blinked red in his hand; quick flashes indicated that the target was close by. “If you help me with this, you’re off the hook. I’ll tell Karga you’re dead and the guild will stop sending hunters after you. But-” He turned to face you, he was holding your beat-up old back pack by one ratty leather strap. "If for one second I think you'll turn against me, I'll take the half credits for your corpse."

"You're one to talk!" You hissed, storming up to the gunslinger with the ferocity of a lothcat. "You kidnapped me! I didn't ask to be here."

The man in question didn't budge under your verbal assault. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He forced your backpack into your arms to accentuate his point. You ripped it from his grasp and stormed to the other side of the cabin. Everything was still inside; a pack of bacta patches, a few mementos, three busted tracking fobs and some blaster charges. Speaking of blaster-

"Where’s my gun, Mando?" Your question was answered when you turned back to face him. He was holding it by its barrel, extending the grip towards you. You met his visor with contempt, but took the old blaster from him carefully as not to cause a misfire. It would be nice to not be on the run from a guild you had pledged your loyal services to for so many years, that now wanted you delivered back to them in carbonite; and you knew that Karga would trust his favorite hunter. The life of a moisture farmer wasn’t what you dreamed of when you escaped Corellia. Fuck that. "Yeah, it's a deal. One hunt and I'm gone."

If he didn't want you to ogle his wares he should have closed the panel, but instead he joined you at the wall, picking up some extra plasma cartridges and a vibroblade with a curved handle, which he pushed into your hands. "Will that be enough?"

Either you trust me or you don't, pick a side, tin can. You didn't answer him right away, opting to pull a chest holster and another couple of blasters down from the wall. You cinched the holsters tight and tucked a blaster in on either side, slung a disruptor over your back and stuffed the knife in your boot. Once you had everything in place you stuck your fists on your hips like a superhero with a confidant nod. "Yeah, that should be good."

Mando was watching you with intensity, his visor going over each of your weapon choices. He tugged on your holsters’ cross straps to make sure they were secured. You rolled your eyes at him, "I know how to dress myself, sir."

No answer. Typical. He stopped fussing with your straps and turned back to the wall, selecting a heavy multi-ammo bandolier. He stepped closer to you, wrapping both arms around your waist to fit the belt in place on your hips. You tried to convince yourself that it was the cool beskar of his chest plate pressed up against you that sent a shiver down your spine. The physical contact was over as quickly as it had been initiated, and then he was back in the vault fishing out the tiny silver explosives that fit neatly into the circular latches on either side of your belt, handing them to you without a word. Finished with his selection he pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, one to slide the armory shut and another to summon an egg-shaped hover crib to float to his side. Inside its shell the child was sound asleep, a heart-melting smile on his tiny little face. As adorable as he was, you furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Is he coming too?”

“Where I go, he goes.” Mando said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He strode back to the supply crate you had been digging through earlier and packed a handful of rations into a bag for the journey through the dunes. Cool desert air gusted into the stuffy cabin as the access ramp fell open, and the three of you headed out into the darkness of Tatooine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your dreams were hazy and feverish, shots of blaster fire flickered through the fog from unknown assailants. The smell of blood and blast plasma strong in your nose even while unconscious. You saw the sneering face of a Twi’lek twist in agony and purple blood painted his face before he winked out of existence, replaced in your mindscape with bloody hands. Your hands. Then there was cold beskar on your cheek and strong arms hauling you from the carnage. Harsh wind in your ears and the ground spiraling away beneath you. The howling wind so loud you couldn't hear the questions being barked in your face. Pain, the smell of burning skin, then nothing. You felt objects moving frantically nearby, and something soft and green was pressing into your ribs. Your eyes, heavy as they were, fluttered open to see two huge black orbs staring up from your side where bright red blood was staining the sheets under you. Is that ... my blood?

“Hey green bean...what’cha up to?” Your voice was hoarse and weak, scratching its way out reluctantly past chapped lips. Talking made your head pound, you reached up to cradle your aching skull when two leather tipped hands caught yours and held them steady.

“Easy... Don’t move too much. Please.” Your hands were gently set back down at your sides, shooting pain up your arms. A large black and silver body was hunched beside you, frantically sticking bacta patches to your skin.

“Mand...do? What…what happened?” Your voice was barely a whisper, so faint the recycled air of the cabin threatened to whisk it away.

“You got the bastard, but that fucking Twi' managed to get a shot off in your gut point blank before he went down. You shouldn't have survived that but you did.” Is that a compliment? He was wrapping a long gauze bandage around your arm, fixing the bacta patches in place so they could do their thing. It hurt, but not as much as you thought it should have. Down by your side the child had rolled into you face first, passed out cold next to an emergency cauterizer. Mando nodded at his sleeping son, “And if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead for sure.”

The baby? How is he involved with this? Thoughts echoed loudly in your skull, and you decided that thinky time was over. The little guy had the right idea, you should sleep now, embrace the comfort of the dark behind your eyes, let it swallow you whole.

“Hey hey hey! Not yet. Stay with me, ok? You need to drink something. Here.” An armored hand slid under your head, urging you to sit up just enough to take a drink out of the metal canteen pressed against your lips. “You need to stay awake, just for a little while.” Cool water graced your dry mouth and dripped onto your chin. Embarrassed by your mess you tried to wipe the droplets away but once again your arms were halted in place. A rough piece of fabric dabbed at your face.

“I’m not a baby, Mando. I can take care of myself.” The creeping sting of blast-burn that still scalded your skin told you that might not be true. The bacta was just starting to seep into your bloodstream, but it would take some time to work its magic.

“I know that. I was with you down there in the fray. A rancor would have been less terrifying to face than you. But right now I need you to hold still.”

Another compliment? Or was that sarcasm? You’re losing your edge, tin man. You tried to roll your eyes but the effort made your head spin; you glanced around the cabin, trying to avoid meeting the visor that was pinning you to the cot. Strewn about the floor of the ship was what was left of your holsters and weapons, splattered with red and purple blood. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like one belt had been blasted to smithereens, torn strips of leather the only indication it had been there at all. Farther away you saw a dark block in the carbonite freezer. The Twi’lek from your nightmare was frozen solid, though from his limp posture you guessed he had stopped moving long before he was put in the chamber. One of his long lekku had been cut clean off, and even in carbonite you could see the wound was fresh. Something long and curved stuck victoriously out of the center of his chest. Your vibroblade, lodged to the hilt in his sternum.

Mando was still kneeling on the floor by your side, and though you couldn’t see his face his hunched shoulders gave you the feeling that he was distraught. He still had your head resting in his palm, his thumb absently toying with your hair. Maybe it was the bacta running through your system that made you start to feel warm and gooey on the inside, but the sensation of his hand on your scalp felt... nice. Nice to be touched in a way that wasn't just for survival. Though you had already felt his hands on your body this was something else entirely. Sincere. Maybe it was just the first time somebody near you wasn't trying to kill or capture you. You foolish girl, you've already been captured. Are you so lonely that a gentle touch makes you melt? Maybe it's you that's losing your edge.

"You should have left me for dead, cashed in on that half credit reward."

"That is not The Way." His mantra was rehearsed, spoken as easily as he drew breath, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Well... thank you for not letting me bleed out.” You could see the top of the baby's green little noggin still curled up against your side, though the part of your ribs he was leaning on didn’t have a single mark. You looked for the blast wound that Mando was supposedly talking about, but aside from a handful of plasma burns your skin was smooth and healthy; the pool of dried blood under you was the only indication anything had been there at all. What kind of mando magic is that? And what did he mean about the child? Your first thought was how disappointed you were there wouldn’t be a good scar. Your second was realizing your top was missing. Shreds of it were still on your shoulders, but the front had been ripped off completely to get to your vanished wounds. Mando seemed like he didn’t even care, he had been so focused on patching you up that the idea of modesty was thrown out the window, but you couldn’t help teasing him. “There’s not a scratch on me, Mando. You just wanted me topless, didn’t you?”

His thumb on your scalp froze, his visor going from your face to your chest with rapid snaps. Without letting your head drop he used his other hand to tear his cloak from his back and throw it over you and the sleeping baby. “Better?”

Party pooper. “Yes, thank you.” Why is he being so nice? He must have ulterior motives, right? Why keep me alive if not to cash in on that bounty? You decided to push his buttons some more. “This bed sucks. Is this why you're so crotchety? Because you sleep on this Maker-forsaken thing? It’s making my back hurt.”

The cot you were on was spartan at best, more of a cloth covered bucket than a bed. It was recessed into the wall opposite of the armory, bits of machinery and droid parts hanging over the space above you. There wasn’t much of a gap between your head and the durasteel plating of the ship’s hull. Your teasing was rewarded with a long, tired sigh. The hand that cushioned your head moved down to your shoulders, pushing on you so that you sat up straight. You scooped the baby off of your side and into your arms, trying to ignore the dried blood from your wounds that stained the sheets before swaddling the sleeping bean in his father’s cloak. The metal man rose from the floor, letting go of you just long enough to remove his cross-belts and unlatch his chest plate, setting them on the floor with a dull thunk. He squished himself between the wall and your back, his dorsal plate scraping loudly without its cape. He scooched one armored leg around you until it was between your hip and the wall on your side, pulling you into his lap and turning his whole body into a pillow, letting your torso rest on his. He was used to the sharp metal bed frame, but that didn’t mean you should be subjected to it.

“Is this ok?”

You could only nod, your cheeks flushing red with a mix of emotions. It was more than ok, his formidable body was warm and comfortable. His arms wrapped around your waist, helping to support not only you but also his foundling. The spice of him was strong now with him on your back, worn leather and metal and that damn fresher soap that was making a fool out of you. Underneath his steady breathing the sound of something rhythmic caught your attention, it was quick and faint, but unmistakably the sound of his heartbeat. His heart is racing. Listen to that engine purr.

Behind you a man with a name you may never know watched your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, not with lust but something unfamiliar though not unwelcome. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, whether from the ordeal of keeping you alive or the fact that you were in his arms again he couldn't be sure. He sighed, trying to convince himself to calm down, but the deep breath he took only flooded his senses with the essence of you, threatening to melt the beskar off his head with the heat rushing to his face. He couldn't help the way his fingers traced over your skin, careful not to undo any of the bacta patches. He jumped slightly when your hands found his, but the weight of the child still in your arms made it difficult to reach your fingers. The glove you were touching was suddenly empty, and a bare hand snaked out from under the cloak that kept you modest. With the press of a button the child’s pram floated its way over to you from the supply crates. The baby’s adopted father carefully lifted the sleeping creature off your lap and into his hover crib, another button press on the vambrace and the shield door slid closed.

His hand returned to the safety of the cloak, pulling the other glove off before finding your fingers again. His skin was so warm you couldn't help but imagine his hands somewhere more intimate. Evil, evil bacta... Maybe you wouldn't have to.

"I should thank you properly." It was impossible to hide the tiredness of your voice, but he was close enough you only needed to whisper. His grasp tightened around you, your once plush pillow was now a rigid wall of muscle.

"You should go to sleep." the sound of his baritone words so close to your ear made your skin prickle. Too late for that. Slowly you guided his hand down your belly until your tangled hands bumped into your belt line. A low growl rumbled out of the modulator. “Cyar'ika... you need to rest."

The alien term of endearment made you hum, but you ignored his words of warning and pushed his hand under the tough fabric till his fingertips found your heat, both of you gasping softly at first contact. His free hand fumbled with your button, and after some difficulty you undid it for him along with the zipper. With space to work, with his wrist moved freely, lazily rolling a calloused fingertip against your clit; remembering his lesson from the first time he experienced your body, his touch was light as a feather.

There wasn’t much you could do for him in the position you were in, so you leaned back against him and relaxed, letting him enjoy you at his own pace. The bottom of his helmet was pressed into the crook of your neck, and though it was sharp you could feel something warm and soft underneath it. So there is a real man under there. Scruffy stubble brushed at your skin and sent goosebumps down your chest. Under the beskar his eyes followed the prickling trail that lead under the tattered cloak you still wore to your breasts, watching the way the fabric pointed where your nipples grew hard for him. His other hand couldn’t resist finding its way to your pert peaks, rolling them between his fingers in that way he knew flushed you with heat. Soft gasps rewarded his ears as he worked at your breast and clit, rubbing them in tandem. Your hips rolled into one hand and your back arched into the other, urging him to help you build your climax. He obliged, adding a second finger to pinch your clit softly between strong digits until you fell apart around him.

The pressure that was building behind you and pressing into your spine told you that if you wanted more from him you would have to give him a better angle. You started to get up, but the hands on your sensitive spots held you in place.

“What about your injuries? I don’t want to hurt you.” What injuries? There’s nothing left! His voice was filled with sincerity, a far cry from your first encounter. You didn’t answer him, instead you found each of his hands and squeezed them with a hum, asking him to trust that the bacta had set in and made you comfortable enough to move from your impromptu med bay. He slid his fingers out from your burning core, dragging the wetness from your cunt over your skin until his palms were on your back, helping to push you up off of him. The teeny tiny bed frame made it difficult to spin yourself around until you were facing him, and even more difficult to kick your pants off as you passed over top of him, but he never took his hands away from you to keep you steady until you were seated in his lap.

Straddling his waist you rolled your hips over where his cock was hidden from you, making him shudder under your legs. His arms glided from your knees to your hips, languidly making their way up your sides and past your breasts to the last remaining tatters of the black knit sweater he had allowed you to wear. Hooking a thumb under its ruined edges, he slid it up over your arms and cast it away into the darkness of the ship. His hands went right back to working at your breasts, massaging them like dough in time with your grinding hips. You took a moment to admire how he looked underneath you, his remaining armor glinting in the hazy ship light as his hands searched for every sensitive inch of your chest. You knew from legend that his helmet could never be removed in front of you, but you’d never heard anything about the rest of his clothes. Where his chest plate had been was a strappy flak jacket dotted with magnetic fasteners. Your hands went slowly to the first clasp, and the hands that were so indulged in you froze, his body stiff between your legs.

“Is this ok?” The irony of you repeating his question from earlier back to him made your lips turn in a sly smile.

“Y-yes.” His voice was nearly imperceptible, and you realized that he was shaking. You looked to his visor, watching him nod in consent before you continued. He dropped his hands to your hips, pulling down on your thighs and rutting up into you while you busied yourself with the complicated under armor until it fell away at his sides, revealing a pair of suspenders and an identical black knit tunic as the one that had been shredded off of you. You didn’t have the energy to peel every article of clothing off of him, so this would have to do. Without his cloak bunched around his shoulders you were able to see the flesh of his throat, so warm and inviting that you wanted to sink your teeth into it.

You bent down to nibble at the exposed skin, and the filthy moan that rattled out of the helmet sent shivers down your spine. The taste of him was exquisite, better than you could have imagined under all that fabric and leather. The overwhelming cocktail of his scent straight from the source made you bold. You kissed your way around the edge of his helmet where the metal met his skin until you found his pulse point and made good on your desires. His body convulsed when you bit down, sucking at the tender skin until you left blooming marks that would be there for days.

“Cyar'ika... Please...“ There was that word again, you didn’t know what it meant but the way he breathed it like a prayer felt like warm honey in your belly. Releasing his tormented neck you ran your hands down his broad chest until your thumbs bumped the leather suspenders that lead you down to his waist line where you were able to tug the edge of his shirt free, giving you a delicious window of his tummy; well-muscled and dusted with dark brown hair.

“What’s wrong, tin man? Nobody ever touch you like this before?” He was still shaking while you ran your hands under the edge of his shirt and through the soft treasure trail of fuzz from the top of his belt line to the bottom of his ribs. He couldn’t answer you, his breath caught in his throat at the sensation of your hands on his skin, but you were starting to put the pieces of his puzzle together. No, probably not.

You decided not to torture him any longer. The fabric of his pants was nearly stretched to capacity and wet with your slick. You had to stretch one leg out onto the floor to get enough of a footing to lift yourself high enough off him that you could free him from the canvas prison. His cock nearly burst out of its confines, and your face flushed red at the sight of him standing proudly at attention, twitching in your hands with a flood of shimmering precum made just for you.

His chest was heaving, ragged breaths forcing their way out of his modulator before you’d even taken his length. You used your hips to notch him at your entrance and his grip on your thighs clenched like a steel trap. Slowly you lowered yourself onto him, letting him fill you until you were stretched wide. Your eyes met his visor, though from the way it was tilted you knew he was watching himself disappear into you. His arms wrapped tightly under your ass as he thrust into you hard enough that he lifted you off the cot, quickly scooting both your bodies down the bed until he was flat on his back. You tried to stay upright, but his pounding soon had your head spinning until you were falling forward into his chest, digging your arms around his shoulders in a way you were becoming familiar with. Your hands found their way to the back of his helmet to where his hair line started, sneaking a few fingers under the metal edge to tangle in his curls. The Mandalorian’s hands were on your waist, holding you in place while he rocketed up into you, filling the ships cabin with the sound of wet slaps. His thick cock hit different from this angle, grinding up against the sweet spot deep inside you with each rut until you started seeing stars behind your eyes. He could feel you building up around him and he quickened his pace until you were gasping his name.

“M-mando! I... I’m gonna....” Your muscles coiled with heat until you burst, your sweet cunt fluttering around his still pumping cock until he went cascading over the edge of ecstasy with you, his helmet vibrating with a guttural roar. His feverish body shook, giving you a few short thrusts to milk the cum from his cock until it spilled out from where he was lost inside you.

His shaky arms held onto you so tightly, as if you would blast away into space if he let go. The endorphins flooding his head made him want to pour his heart out and tell you everything, bare himself in body and soul for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you how nice you had looked in his clothes, how the loose knit fabric draped over your breasts was a work of art; even more so when you were standing before him armed to the teeth in his hunting trophies. How seeing you slice that fucking Twi’lek to ribbons was more graceful than any ballet. The sight of the bloody hole that had been burned into your side had made his skin crawl. Mando wasn’t ready to explain the child’s healing powers, he barely understood them himself; but if it wasn’t for the baby he would have been burying your corpse instead of tending your wounds. Instead of experiencing your living body like he was now.

His heart fluttered at the thought of his foundling healing you with his baby sorcerer magic, his tiny green paws pushed on your side where the blood was spilling from your wound. The thought of you dying for his bounty made him sick, but pride flushed the sensation away when he thought back to that first day with you up in the flight deck. How when his baby boy was restless that you acted, not with malice but with tenderness and care. He'd never wanted to rip his helmet off faster in all his days than when you sang his son a lullaby, the sweet tune of it filtering through his sensory equipment, and he longed to hear it as it was meant to be. In that moment he had been entranced, but the fierce glare of his visor had made you feel threatened. He didn't want that. He wanted to make you feel safe. The same way you had made his child feel, the same way you made him feel now. Like the galaxy itself couldn’t tear you from him.

But the ugly truth was that soon it would all end when you both went your separate ways. All the feelings he wanted to confess to you died in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste that brought him back to reality. You still straddled his waist, and though the blood had long since left his cock it still sat neatly in your heat, letting him feel your gentle heartbeat around him. Carefully he pulled himself free from the apex of your thighs and rolled you both sideways onto the unforgiving cot, letting gravity shuffle you down until you were nestled in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t help brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, meeting your half lidded eyes with his own behind the visor.

“I don’t think I can get to the fresher this time.” Your voice was barely a whisper, and the edges of sleep crept unbidden to your eyes; the traumatic activities of the day finally winning over your endurance. “You’re probably going to have to burn these sheets.”

Mando hummed with indifference, though for you he would burn all of Tatooine down if you asked. All the lovely thoughts that had danced through his mind came rolling through again, haloed in the warm light of afterglow. Only one made its way past his lips, sneaking out of the helmets’ modulator like a prayer.

“How does the song end?”

“Mmm?” You were so close to sleep, so cozy and full of cum that you knew would be a fun mess for morning-you to clean up. You wracked your brain trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. The star-shanty? “Why, do you need a lullaby too?”

“N-no. Just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.” Liar. The calloused hand gliding up and down your spine brought the original contract you made with him ringing through your skull. One hunt and I’m gone.

“Leave? I’m not going anywhere until I see you tell Karga face to face that I’m rotting in a sarlacc pit. No take-backs. That old dog will probably dance when he hears he won’t have to part with his credits and I want to catch it on holo-corder.”

The rumbling sigh deep in his chest sounded more like an engine powering down than a mortal man, and it told you more than words ever could. The arm you had around his chest was met with strong fingers that intertwined with your own. He doesn’t want me to go. Who are you, Mandalorian?

“Tell me anyway? Please?” His arms tightened like a fortress around you. His words were distant, echoing out from somewhere in dreamland instead of right by your ear. Alright you big softie, if you’re going to beg me. You sighed heavily against him, trying to recall the songs of your distant past.

“The nights are long between the stars, and lonely too for me,

I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

But the bonds of friendship I have formed will last my lifetime through,

Security is not for me, my dreams are all of you.”

The same soft snores that had been your original encore with the baby now ghosted in your ear, muffled by the mysterious beskar helmet but still unmistakable. Like father like son.

The weight of his arms around you was like nothing you had ever felt in your years on the run. You had traveled so far and met so many living beings but not once had you let another share your bed while you slept. You could get used to this. The thought was the last you had before sleep overtook you, your body slumping against his while you dreamed of silver and steel.

<-Previous Next->

TAG LIST

@mandoinevarro @mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #hurt/comfort #fluff #smut

199 notes · View notes